


I Love You In A Song

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Everything that happens now is happening now, First Kiss, Greg dates an OMC very briefly, Halloween, He really tried my patience, I'm pretty sure he was jealous Sherlock got to be in it, John wasn't supposed to be in this fic, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mycroft is an idiot, Mystrade Valentine’s Calendar 2018, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, but lyrics are quoted a lot, he inserted himself into it, moodboard, not a song fic perse, this fic takes place now, wink at Doctor Who, wink at E. M. Forster, youtube guitar covers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 00:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: It’s Greg’s first year at uni, and he’s eager to make friends.  Meanwhile his little sister misses him, so he records youtube videos of him singing and playing guitar for her. Mycroft is in his second year, still having trouble connecting with people.  He discovers Greg’s videos, and is drawn to him despite his vow to put his work first.  Then one day they meet, and their subsequent friendship sparks months of pining and misunderstandings, while also helping them understand themselves better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story from a fan art that is so frickin cute that I knew at some point I was going to write it.
> 
> http://ngaijuuyan.tumblr.com/post/167329420995/just-sharing
> 
> I love unilock fics where Sherlock is good friends with Irene or Molly or both. I decided Mycroft should have a sensible female friend, and who better than Elizabeth (Libbie) Smallwood? Obviously in this fic, she was born a Smallwood. 
> 
> I tried to do as much research on London universities as possible re term dates, majors, housing, dining. I used King’s College as a reference most of the time, but it’s a mix. 
> 
> The title of the fic is taken from the title of a Jim Croce song, I'll Have To Say I Love You With A Song, which is not featured in the story.

As Mycroft unpacked his trunk, he reveled in the blissful sound of _nothing_.  Not that it was completely quiet - the walls of the dorm were paper thin.  But there was one noise that was glaringly absent:  Sherlock.  His little brother had been extremely tiresome the entire summer.  At 13, his adolescence was reaching a crescendo, and Mycroft’s patience was at a nadir.  

He would have been better able to handle Sherlock’s nonsense if he hadn’t been looking forward to some peace after his ordeal of living with a stranger last term.  His parents required him to live in a double in the misguided belief that he would enjoy his first experience as a university student more if he had a partner to share it with.  They couldn’t have been more wrong.  

He’d managed to avoid being bullied his last few years of secondary school by feigning invisibility (something his younger brother had yet to learn).  It was harder to be invisible in one’s own living space.  The first couple months of term, his roommate (Chuck?  Chad?) just seemed befuddled by him, like he he couldn’t quite believe Mycroft was for real.  “You don’t have _any_ t-shirts?   _None_ ?”  Then once Chad started making friends, he regaled them with stories about Mycroft.  “No really, he has like _five_ pairs of wingtips.  And he uses _brylcreem_.  Maybe he thinks he’s fuckin Don Draper.  Or maybe he wants to fuck Don Draper.”  

Mycroft could have told them that while Jon Hamm was quite attractive, he wasn’t really his type.  But he never made such quips because he wasn’t sure how tolerant they were of gay men, and he wasn’t interested in finding out.  Fortunately they never got physical with him.  He just had to listen to their numerous tiresome jokes whenever they hung out with his roommate.  He’d ended up spending most of his time at the library or in Libbie’s room.         

But all that was over.  He had a room to himself this term.  Blessed solitude.  Having said that, he was determined to come out of his shell more.  If he ever wanted to have any influence with political and government types, he would need more than his intelligence, quick wit, and the ability to read people.  He’d need to learn how to _get along_.  Libbie promised to help him with that, she had similar career goals.  

It was her father that had inspired them both.  He’d seen potential in them, and they’d spent a lot of time volunteering for him at Parliament.  Mycroft would watch Lord Smallwood, amazed at his ability to get people to do whatever he wanted, either through charm or soft-spoken threat.  Libbie insisted that Mycroft could accomplish it, he just needed practice.  

Part of his problem was that he'd never gotten over the shock of going to school with other kids and realising that they weren't like him and Sherlock. He'd ended up offending people, and that was how the bullying started.  The only way to get it to stop was to blend into the woodwork.  It was so effective that Mycroft wasn’t socializing with anyone at all - negating the very reason his parents put him in school in the first place.  Mycroft was polite enough to other kids, but never made any friends except Libbie.  

He’d also made himself invisible to potential love interests.  There were only a couple of other gay boys (that he knew of) in his secondary school and neither gave him so much as a glance.  Maybe if he hadn’t been so pale and pudgy.  And _freckly_.  

Libbie tried to encourage him to seek out other men once they got to uni, dragging him to several LGBT functions.  But he’d already decided that romance wasn’t in the cards for him.  It made more logical sense to remain unattached and not have to deal with the complications of relationships.  It wasn’t like there were any advantages to caring.  Certainly his attempts to remain close to his brother have been met with contempt.  He’d doted on Sherlock when he was small, and now they were practically strangers.  What was the point of letting someone get close to you?  All hearts broke eventually.

*

Greg sprinted towards his dorm, starting to feel a stitch in his side from running on a full stomach.  The cafe was busier than he’d expected and he’d had to wolf down his food so he wouldn’t be late.  When he burst into his dorm room, he was chagrined to find his roommate was there.  Tom was lounging on his bed, reading Siddhartha.  “Umm...hey Tom.  Look, I hope you don’t mind, but I was hoping to um…  Well, my kid sister’s been missing me since I started term, and wanted me to sing to her at bedtime.  I was going to play my guitar and record it on youtube.  Is that alright?”

Tom shrugged, “Yeah whatever, mate.  Why youtube, though?  Instead of skype?”

Greg started pulling out his guitar.  “My mum thought it would be a good idea to record it, that way my sister can play it again whenever she wants.  She likes watching youtube videos, so she’ll get a kick out of it.”

He texted his mum to say he was ready, and she responded that Caroline was waiting anxiously to begin.  He logged onto youtube and set up a live video.  Earlier he’d figured out the best way to arrange his laptop on the desk so he could sit on his bed and be fully in the frame of the webcam.  Once he hit record, he went over and sat down.  He sort of wished Tom would leave, as Greg was somewhat intimidated by him.  He was very hipster and seemed to like high-brow, esoteric stuff.  Greg doubted that he’d appreciate Neil Diamond.  

Feeling extremely self-conscious, he cleared his throat.  “Hey there, baby girl.  I know you miss me.  I’ve been missing you, too.  This is for you, my love.”  He started playing the guitar, not daring to look Tom’s way, as he went into a rendition of Sweet Caroline.  When he finished the song, he said, “That’s it for tonight, my darlin.  I promise you a new one soon.”  He turned off the recording.

Greg glanced over at Tom, who had one eyebrow raised.  He shrugged.  “My father’s a big Diamond fan.  Named my sister after this song.”

To his surprise, Tom smiled.  “It’s cool.  My mum really likes Barry Manilow.  I suppose if I’d been a girl, my name would be Mandy.”

Greg chuckled, feeling himself relax a bit.  “I was thinking about doing these every week or something.  If that’s okay?”

“It’s no problem.  You’re actually pretty good.”

Greg ducked his head.  “Ta!  Funny enough, it was youtube that taught me the guitar a few years ago.  My username is **struckachord**.”  He gave a self-deprecating laugh.  He put his guitar back under his bed.  “Well, better get to the library.  Criminal law is already busting my arse.”  

He left the room, feeling a little better about his roommate.  He didn’t know many blokes like Tom in his secondary school, and he supposed he was stereotyping him.  As he made his way to the library, he passed by a variety of people from many backgrounds.  His secondary school had been diverse, but in a different way - reflective of a different class of people.  He didn’t grow up with a lot of money.  His father made a decent living consulting for the police.  His mum’s ballet dancing wasn’t gifted enough or frequent enough to bring in any money.  The only reason Greg could afford university was his mum’s inheritance, which she’d designated for education.

When he got to the library, Greg made his way down to the stacks and found the two books he needed for class.  Most of the study nooks were occupied.  He passed by one bloke who looked more like he was dressed up for a date than the library.  He had on a polo shirt, trousers, and wingtips.  Greg’s eyes were mostly drawn to his silky, ginger hair.  Greg had kind of a big thing for gingers.  Maybe not _preppy_ ones, though.  As he rounded a corner and found an empty desk, he shook his head as he realised he was once again stereotyping someone.

*

Mycroft sighed deeply as he glanced around the rugby field.  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”

Libbie looked at him with twinkling eyes.  “Don’t pretend you aren’t just as eager as I am to check out the first year players.”  She squinted at her mobile.  “There are two new ones.  Watson and Stamford.”  She clutched Mycroft’s arm as the players filed out onto the field.  “Oh...oh wow, isn’t he _adorable_.  That’s Watson, I think.  God, those legs!”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh.  “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Libbie.  I do so enjoy ogling fit men with you.”

She bumped his shoulder.  “I missed you, too.  Speaking of fit men, it looks like the South of France was very good to you.  The baby fat is _almost_ gone.”

Mycroft blushed a little.  “I have Sherlock to thank for that.  He was so insufferable that I went on a lot of long walks and bicycle rides.  Also, there was an incident at the beginning of the summer that put me off some of the more decadent French dishes.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “Let me guess, you ate too much of something rich and chundered all over the place.”

Mycroft winced.  “ _Really_ , Libbie.”  He refused to admit that she was right.  Sherlock had gone into hysterics of laughter.  Mycroft wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to look at bechamel sauce again.

Libbie giggled and bumped his arm again.  “Well, don’t lose anymore weight.  I like you fluffy.  Makes for better hugs.  Now come on, what do you think of Watson?  He’s a bit short for you, but I bet those strong arms could tackle you onto the bed.”

Mycroft shook his head.  “He is very fit and good-looking and _not_ my type.”

She gave him a cheeky grin.  “Oh yes, I forgot.  You like twinks.”

Mycroft chose to ignore her remark.  “Besides, given the number of times he’s winked at the girls in the stands, it’s unlikely that he’s gay.  Or he’s deep in the closet.”  Mycroft’s brow creased as he observed Watson for a few minutes.  “Now that I think about it, the closet may be exactly where he’s hiding.  Watch how he’s sneaking little glances at Number 15.”  

They paid close attention and soon Libbie was giggling.  “Well, I guess I won’t be crushing on him this season.  Been there done that with you.”  She gave Mycroft a fond look.  Four years ago, when they were both fifteen, Libbie kept approaching Mycroft and asking him to go out for ice cream.  He’d always give her a confused look and said that there was no need for that as his mum kept plenty in the freezer.  One day she switched tactics.  Since boys were typically into sports, she invited him to a rugby game after school.  Sherlock had violin practice on that particular day, so Mycroft agreed as an excuse to avoid going back to the house.  As they sat in the stands, eyes fixed on the fit players, Libbie finally understood which way the wind blew.  

*

Greg perused the stands.  Some of the folks in his police ops class were planning to meet here.  He didn’t see any of them.  He did spot the preppy ginger from the library, sitting with a girl who also had ginger hair.  They looked very striking together.  She was doubled over with laughter at something he said and he looked pleased with himself.  Greg decided he looked even nicer when he smiled, which he had a feeling didn’t happen too often.  

Checking the time on his mobile, Greg decided to skip the game.  He needed to record another video for Caroline.  He left to head back to the dorm, shoulders hunched.  He wasn’t doing a very good job making friends.  He was getting along better with Tom, now that the ice has been broken between them.  But any hopes of them hanging out together disappeared when Tom started dating a girl from one of his classes.  As usual with new couples, they were inseparable.  

Greg missed the lads from secondary school.  He’d been hurt when they started distancing themselves from him the moment he was accepted to university.  He understood what it was - they thought he believed he was too good for them now.   He tried to assure them that wasn’t true, but they had a rather stubborn view of uni kids.  He knew this, because he was still fighting those prejudices within himself.

When Greg got to the room, Tom and Kayla were there, cuddling on the bed as they watched something on an ipad.  “Oh, sorry Tom.  Um...will it be alright if I record a video?  Doing it early since I got a study group tonight.”

Tom nodded and hopped off the bed.  “Sure mate.  How about we leave so there won’t be any noise?  I’m not sure Kayla’s capable of keeping her mouth shut.”  Kayla stuck her tongue out at Tom and followed him.  She pulled out her mobile and started typing something, then turned to Greg and gave him a sly grin.  “Have fun!”  

Greg took out his laptop and logged onto youtube.  He was surprised to see that he had notifications. Apparently he’d gotten a few likes on the two videos he’s posted so far.  He was bewildered until he realised that he hadn’t made them private.  He reviewed in his mind whether he’d said anything in the videos that he wouldn’t want public.  No, there hadn’t been any personal information about himself or his sister.  Just a dude singing a song on a guitar.  He figured it was harmless to keep it public, just make sure he watched what he said.  

He hit record.  “Hallo love! I hope you’ve had a brilliant day.  I’m going to play the song you requested, but really it should be you singing it to me.  I’m the one missing you, my darling girl.”  

He started playing When I’m Gone, being sure to occasionally drum his hands against the guitar to make the “cups” sound that Caroline loved.  He noticed as he was singing that several users were viewing him, and he was even getting comments.  He looked away so he could stay focused.  When he finished, he blew a kiss and said goodbye, then stopped the recording.

 He went back and looked at the comments.  “UR sooo cute!”  “This is adorable.”  “I love this song!  U R talented!”  He flushed deeply, not sure what to think.  There was another comment on the song he did last week - Frere Jacques.  “OMG, french is so hot.  Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”  Greg’s eyes widened and he snorted.  His mum would flip if she saw that.  He deleted the comment.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two nods to my first year in university: 1) The nickname Libbie is in honor of the fact that I was assigned to a suite with 8 other women and two of them were Libbies. What are the odds? 2) We were assigned Siddhartha as a getting to know you exercise the first week of school. I felt a bit like Greg, not really used to anything that intellectual. I felt out of my depth, but I liked the new experiences.
> 
> I decided it would be fun at the end of every chapter to provide the URL to youtube videos of amateur acoustic guitar covers of the songs featured in the chapters. (I tried to HTML link, but it won't work. Sorry)
> 
> Sweet Caroline https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mi_ps-wrLk
> 
> Frere Jacque https://youtu.be/LjzXz_MvriU?t=1m24s 
> 
> You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qnx4NWU7BF0


	2. Chapter 2

The week of Halloween, Mycroft and Libbie were in her dorm room having a loud argument about their costumes.  “Libbie, it’s too anachronistic!”  

She wrinkled her nose at him.  “No one is going to  _ care _ , My!  Will you please just relax?”  Her mobile chimed.  She checked it and her eyes widened.  “Shit!  It’s him!  He’s going live!”  She threw down her phone and reached for her ipad.

“What are you on about?”

“It’s this guy who does guitar covers on youtube. I got a link to him last week from Kayla, saying it was Tom’s roommate.  Shh!!”  He rolled his eyes as he hadn’t even said anything.

She flopped onto her bed with the ipad and beckoned him to sit next to her.  He heard a voice saying, “I’ve noticed that there’s more people watching than just Caroline.  Hallo!  I suppose it’s alright if you join us, but please mind your comments in case she reads them.  I’ll delete anything inappropriate.”

An acoustic guitar started playing and the voice began to sing, “Missing your face...”  Mycroft unhooked the cape of his costume and carefully draped it over a chair, then climbed onto the bed.  “...missing every little bit and piece of you…”  The voice was decent, he supposed.  It didn’t explain the rapture on Libbie’s face.  When he finally settled in next to Libbie, he focused on the screen and went very still.  “Missing you baby.  Promise to listen before you sleep…”  

The boy was  _ very  _ good looking.  He smiled tenderly as he sang, “Cos when I'm staring at the stars, looking at the moon, wishing that I could be there with you...”  He had brown hair, which kept falling into his eyes - the result of too much product.  He looked very young for 18, though Mycroft knew he must be since Tom was a first year.  The boy looked up and crooned, “Good night, sleep tight.  Dream away with me tonight…” and Mycroft felt his breath steal away as he gazed into those brown eyes.  The video quality wasn’t good enough to tell, but he was positive they were the colour of melted chocolate.  Mycroft wanted to drown in them.

Two girls burst into the room clutching their mobiles.  One of them moaned, “He’s singing Lullaby!”   Libbie shushed her.

They all sat mesmerized in silence until the boy wrapped up. “I'll sing you to sleep.  I love you, goodnight. Dream away with me tonight.”  Goosebumps raced up Mycroft’s arms and settled onto the back of his neck.  After the last note sounded, the boy gave a warm smile which made Mycroft shudder and the girls emitted tiny little squeals. “Alright my love, I hope that will tide you over till next week.”  He winked (eliciting more squeals) and then leaned over to end the video.  Mycroft noted, before Libbie turned off the ipad, that his username was  **struckachord** .  

One of the girls (Britney? Bianca?) grabbed a folder off Libbie’s desk and started fanning herself with it.  “That was the best one yet.  Kayla  _ really  _ needs to introduce me to him.”

The other one (Dawn?  Deb?) gave her a reproachful look  “Hello?  He’s taken.  Like,  _ really  _ taken.”

Britney gazed hopefully at her.  “Maybe it’s not that serious?”

Libbie snorted.  “My, what do you think?  Use those powers of deduction.”  

Mycroft took a deep breath and tried to force his scrambled brain into focus.  “He loves her very deeply.  It’s not the fragile, quicksilver love of a recent romance.  These two have known each other for years.  At least five, I would say.  I don’t see it ending any time soon.”

Britney huffed and adopted a dramatic pose.  “Many a teenage love affair has dashed to bits upon the rocks of Long Distance.  I’ll just bide my time.”  She flounced out of the room, pulling Dawn with her.

Libbie gave Mycroft a knowing look.  “He seems just your type.”

Mycroft barked a laugh.  “Oh indeed, Libbie.  He is divine.  But as Dawn said,” here he let his voice sound breathy, “he’s, like,  _ really  _ taken.”  Returning to normal, he shook his head.  “The love he feels for her is too enduring.  It will abide, of that I’m certain.”

Libbie’s eyes gleamed.  “Well, it’s not like it matters.  This is art appreciation.  One doesn’t have to own the art to enjoy it.  You know, this isn’t the first one he’s done.  There’s several others.  And apparently he plans to continue.  Do you still have your youtube account?”

Mycroft frowned.  “From when we were obsessed with cake baking videos?  Probably.  Oh dear, what was my username?”

Libbie giggled.  “ **thetortinghat** .”

Mycroft chuckled.  “Ah yes, now I remember.  And wasn’t yours  **frostedtips** ?”  

She giggled harder as she nodded.  “Still is.”

“Unfortunately,” he said as he tweaked a lock of her hair.

Libbie’s eyes flashed.  “Don’t you have some studying to do?”

Mycroft smirked and got up from the bed, giving her a mock bow.  Not even remotely interested in going to the library, he went instead back to his dorm room, giving the appearance of nonchalance as his insides churned.  He immediately logged onto youtube and found  **struckachord** ’s videos.  Libbie had been right, it didn’t hurt to look and  _ appreciate _ .  In fact, it was better that the boy had a girlfriend.  There was no temptation to let sentiment get the better of him.  As he watched the first video, he wondered what this Caroline must be like to engender such devotion.  Lucky girl.

*

As Greg approached the student union, he heard the music blasting and started to feel nerves creeping under his skin.  He wondered if his costume was stupid.  Would anyone even get that he was Columbo?  It was an easy costume to put together.  He found a trenchcoat and a fedora at a charity shop.  He already had a suit and tie.  Boom, he was done.  He rubbed his hands together and gathered himself.  He’s been at school a month now and still not made any friends.  Greg was going crazy from not having someone to talk to, especially since his old friends were still freezing him out on social media.  

He’d talked to his father about it a couple days ago when he called up to ask Greg what was going on with the comments on his videos.  “I dunno, Papa.  I think my roommate’s girlfriend must have sent her friends a link.  That’s the only way I can figure how anyone would have taken notice.”

“The girls have always taken notice of you.  And a few boys if I recall.” 

“Yeah, well, taking notice doesn’t mean anything.  None of them said they want to meet me.  Papa, I just...I just really want someone to talk to.  A  _ friend _ .  It’s like there’s hundreds of people around me at all times, but I feel like I’m utterly alone.”

“I understand, Gregory.  I felt the same way when I moved to London for your mother.  Why don’t you try talking with one of your commenters?  There was one that seemed a bit more mature than the others - she was correcting your pronunciation on the Frere Jacques video.  And you should know she was absolutely right.”

Greg groaned.  “Papa, please don’t lecture me about my French.”

“You need to practise!  Maybe with this girl....what was her username?”

Greg tried to remember.  “Thetortinghat.”

“Ah yes.  I did not quite understand that one.”

“I think it’s a pun.  The sorting hat from Harry Potter, but also something to do with torts?  Maybe she’s studying law?  I dunno.  Speaking of which, I’ve got to meet up with my study group.”

It was the folks in his study group who encouraged him to come to the Halloween party.  As Greg walked into the student union, he hoped someone from the group would be in there already.  He looked around and realised it might be a little difficult to recognise people, as there were a lot of masks and face paint.  For lack of anything better to do, he started towards the punch bowl.  

He was halfway there when someone dancing bumped into him hard and he fell against another person.  “Christ!  Sorry about that!  I got shoved.”  The person turned and he was surprised to see it was the preppy ginger.  He was dressed as a vampire.  Greg could see now, up close, that his eyes were a gorgeous shade of blue.  He smiled in delight.  The preppy ginger vampire’s eyes widened.  He heard smothered laughter and looked over to see the ginger girl was next to him, dressed up as the Bride of Frankenstein.  

Greg was about to introduce himself, when there was a loud squeal in his ear.  “ _ You! _ ”  He felt his arm being grabbed and he was turned so that he was facing a girl wearing a unicorn costume, gazing at him in adulation.  “You’re the one from youtube!  Oh my god, you’re even cuter in person. The way you sing to Caroline is just so precious.  My heart aches every time I watch you play the lullaby song.  That’s my favourite one so far.”

Greg blinked several times.  “Ta.  I’m glad you enjoyed them.  Look, I was about to…”  He turned his head and saw that the vampire and bride had disappeared.  Damn it!  He turned back to the girl.  “I was meeting some people here, so I gotta go.  Lovely to meet you.”  He backed away, knowing he was being rude, but he really wanted to find preppy ginger vampire.  Fortunately the girl didn’t look offended, more resigned.  

Greg did several circuits of the room.  He spotted the Bride, but the vampire wasn’t with her.  He did find a few people from his study group, so he ended up spending a couple of hours with them.  He resolved that the next time he saw the preppy ginger, he was going to introduce himself.  

*

Mycroft knew he was being stupid.  He’d gone through all the trouble to put together his costume.  As this was the first social event he was attending, he and Libbie had strategized how he was going to meet and charm people.  He’d been there an hour, and doing a decent job of talking to folks.  Then guitar boy ran into him.  The first hit to his defences had been the eyes.  Just as he predicted, they were the colour of melted chocolate.  The second hit had been his costume.  Mycroft was a huge fan of film noir and the boy was dressed like Humphrey Bogart, with the trench coat and fedora.  Except with his youthful face he was more like Baby Bogart.  Third hit had been the smile.  It lit up Mycroft’s insides, and completely crumbled the rest of his urbane facade.  

Mycroft had actually been relieved when the odious girl dressed like a unicorn came up and started pawing at guitar boy.  As soon as he turned away, Mycroft fled.  He strode at a brisk pace back to his dorm, his cape billowing around him.  He only barely registered that people were regarding him warily and darting away from his path.  It was unacceptable to allow this boy to rattle him like that. It always seemed to happen when he met someone attractive - he’d become flustered and have the urge to bolt.  This time had been the worst.  Well, no more.  He was going to get control of his emotions.  

Maybe what he needed was exposure therapy.  The next time he meets someone that makes him feel this way, instead of running away, he’d stand his ground.  Spend time with them and demystify them.  

*

For the next couple days, Mycroft kept his eyes peeled for guitar boy.  Another video was posted, this time he sang Rainbow Connection.  In a particularly shameful moment of wishful thinking, Mycroft decided it was code - the boy wanted to break up with his girl and switch teams for Mycroft.  After having seen him once.  As a vampire.  It was pathetic.  What was up with that song, anyway?  It didn’t seem very romantic.  Maybe Caroline was a Muppet fan.  

One day, Mycroft was having a coffee and reading at a small table in one of the cafes on campus, when someone came up to him and asked, “Hey, mind if I sit?”  

Annoyed at being interrupted, he started to look up and said, “Actually I…”  He froze when he saw that it was guitar boy.  He...he actually wanted to sit with him?  

Mycroft glanced around.  The cafe was one of the smaller ones on campus, more like a coffee shop.  At the moment it was packed.  Apparently beggars can’t be choosers.  Never mind, it didn’t matter why he wanted to sit.  Mycroft wanted exposure therapy, and now he would get it.  

Mycroft gave a short nod.  “By all means.”  

The boy beamed at him and sat down.  He extended his hand.  “I’m Greg Lestrade.”

Mycroft hesitated only briefly before taking his hand.  “Mycroft Holmes.”  Greg’s handshake was firm, but not aggressively so.  His skin was warm and soft, except for the calluses from his guitar playing.  

Greg tilted his head.  “Mycroft?  I’ve never heard that name.  I like it!”

Mycroft gave him a shy smile.  “My brother’s name is Sherlock, if you can believe it.”

Greg nodded.  “I’m no stranger to unusual names.  My father’s name is Thierry.”  He spelled it for him.

Here was an opportunity to show off.  “So, in what part of France did your mother meet your father?”

Greg’s eyebrows rose.  “Paris.  How did you know?”

“Lestrade is a French name, though that doesn’t mean anything in and of itself.  It was the fact that your father’s name is also distinctly French that tells me it was a recent emigration.  Now, it could have been a grandparent that came over when your father was small, but your own accent has traces of a bilingual background.  Clearly it was your father that came over, most likely after having met your mother in France.”  Mycroft didn’t tell him that he’d already had a hint about his French heritage from watching his Frere Jacques video. 

Greg rested his chin in his hand and grinned.  “That was really clever, what you did there.  It;s true.  My mum was in Paris dancing for a ballet company and my father was an inspector for the Prefecture.  He came to the studio to investigate a murder there.  My mum watched him as he questioned people and took to him instantly.”  He chuckled.  “He was 20 years older than her.  She called him the Silver Fox.  He didn’t give her the time of day of course.  He was in the middle of an investigation and she was only 22.  But my mum goes after what she wants.  And she usually gets it.”  He winked.  “By the time her stint was over and it was time to come back to London, he packed up everything he owned and came with her.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile.  “That’s a lovely story.  Your parents sound delightful.  It seems we have a little bit in common.  My maternal grandmother came over from France.  Her maiden name was Vernet.  As a matter of fact, my family and I spent this past summer at the Vernet cottage in the South of France.”

Greg narrowed his eyes.  “Now, when you say cottage, do you mean an actual cottage?  Or is it the posh version of a cottage?”  He held up his hands to indicate something massive.

Mycroft’s lips quirked.  “I assure you that it was quite small.  So small that my brother and I had no escape from each other unless we left the cottage.  It was rather beautiful, though.  We were right on the beach.”

Greg gave him a wistful smile.  “I’ve only been to France a couple times when I was small.  Once my sister was born, money was too tight.”

“Well, I hope you get to go again someday.  Explore your French heritage.”  An image popped into his head of Greg fighting the French girls off with a baguette.  A sharp beep sounded from his book bag.  “Oh, that’s my mobile telling me my class is starting soon.  May I leave my things here while I refill my coffee?”

Greg’s smile faltered a bit.  “Yeah sure, no problem.”  

Mycroft got up and went over to the coffee station, thrilled that it had gone so well.  When he came back, he said, “It was very nice to meet you, Gregory.  Um…”  He wasn’t sure what to say.  When he’d stepped away, the spell must have broken and now he was floundering again.  

Greg pointed to his textbook.  “I uh...I hope you don’t mind, but I put my mobile number on a slip of paper.”  Mycroft saw the little scrap sticking out the top.  “I’m a first year and I haven’t really made any friends, and I just really enjoyed talking to you.  Maybe we can hang out again?”  His cheeks went slightly pink as he smiled hopefully.

Mycroft tried not to nod too eagerly.  “That would be lovely.”  He was surprised to hear Greg say he hadn’t made any friends, yet.  He seemed perfectly amiable.  “I’ll, um, text you when I get the chance.”  Mycroft hated texting.  But he felt that in this case texting might give him the advantage of being able to think before he speaks.  Greg nodded and grinned widely.  

Mycroft turned and went off to class, his heart beating wildly.  He told himself that Gregory just wants to be friends.  He’s not flirting.  Even if Greg didn’t have a girlfriend...even if he was gay...no one that good looking would ever flirt with him.  Exposure therapy, that’s all this was.  And friendship, if he could stop the nonsense going on with his hormones.  He really would like more friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where they meet is inspired by this fan comic:
> 
> http://imrisah.tumblr.com/post/139519951416/here-have-some-unimystrade-au-ridiculously
> 
> Lullaby https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBIE8aZfnso
> 
> Rainbow Connection https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCoDNwrDPwA


	3. Chapter 3

To Greg’s delight, Mycroft texted him that evening and they agreed to meet up for lunch the next day.  When Greg got to the cafe, Mycroft was at the entrance perusing a bulletin board with various school activities.  He seemed particularly interested in a flyer for the drama department’s production of The Importance of Being Earnest.  “You a fan of Oscar Wilde?”  

Mycroft gave him a small smile.  “When I was in sixth form, my school put on this play.  I was Lady Bracknell.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah?  So you were at a boarding school?”

He looked amused.  “No, my school was coed.  There were girls who auditioned for the part, I was just better.  I wanted to play her because she has the best lines.”

They entered the queue to order their food.  Greg wondered if there was anything significant to the fact that Mycroft was an Oscar Wilde fan.  He looked very good today.  His polo shirt was a shade of blue that matched his eyes, and his grey trousers were a nice snug fit.  His hair gleamed like copper.  “So do you plan to go see it?”  Mycroft lifted his eyebrows questioningly.  “The play.  I think the flyer said it starts next week.”  

Mycroft looked thoughtful.  “I hadn’t really planned to, I was just reminiscing.”

Greg grabbed a tray.  “I’ve only ever seen the movie.  My girlfriend watched it over and over.”  Ugh, what made him mention _her_?  He didn’t like to think about his cheating ex-girlfriend.  

“It _was_ a good movie.  Dame Judi was my inspiration, after all.”  Mycroft was scowling, which seemed at odds with his words.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to attend the play.  Next week will be pretty busy for me.”  The rest of their lunch was spent chatting about their academic schedules this term.  

Greg was thrilled when Mycroft kept accepting his invitations for meals or coffee.  As soon as they discovered a mutual love of classic Doctor Who, they spent a couple of evenings in Mycroft’s room watching episodes on his laptop.  They even attended the Guy Fawkes Night bonfire together.  Greg quite enjoyed that particular evening.  The flames exaggerated Mycroft’s auburn hair and freckles, and Greg had to keep from staring too much.

Greg learned that despite his fancy name and clothes, Mycroft wasn’t really posh at all.  The preppy way he dressed was due to his political aspirations.  Also, he’d admitted that he felt so awkward as a kid that dressing smartly made him feel better about himself. He’d blushed as he confessed this, but Greg assured him that it was a very clever way to handle the situation.  He made his own confessions about how wrong-footed he’d felt since coming to uni.

He didn’t tell Mycroft about his guitar videos and the unexpected deluge of hero worship that came about.  The whole thing was bewildering and he didn’t want Mycroft to think he was an attention seeker.  

There was one “fan” of his that didn’t make him uncomfortable - the one with the puntastic username: **thetortinghat**.  He thought about asking her out.  He really wanted to date Mycroft, but wasn’t picking up any clues about whether he was gay and/or interested.  Greg’s flirting, which he was being pretty obvious about, went completely over Mycroft’s head.  Or he knew what Greg was doing and he pretended ignorance so he wouldn’t have to outright reject him. Either way, it wasn’t looking like he had any sort of chance with Mycroft.  Probably he was dating the ginger girl.  Greg tried to find out, but for some reason Mycroft wanted to avoid the subject of girlfriends.  Anyway, maybe he should start something with **thetortinghat**?

 *

Greg entered his dorm room, wet from running in the rain.  He didn’t pay attention to the weather forecast, so hadn’t taken his umbrella.  He was late for Caroline’s bedtime, so he quickly threw on a dry shirt.  He knew his hair was going to dry into a riot of curls, but he didn’t have time to comb it out.  

He started up youtube, and after a quick hello to Caroline, he went into Isn’t She Lovely.  He loved this song.  He’d sung it to her after she was born, when he hadn’t yet discovered guitar.  His mum cried seeing him holding his baby sister in his arms and singing a Stevie Wonder song.  He’d had a few tears himself.  She was so perfect.  

When the song was over, he blew a kiss and then ended the video.  He checked the comments to make sure there was nothing inappropriate.  There was some gushing about his curls.  Even his favourite commenter said something.  

 **thetortinghat** : A bit of a change in routine with the hair.  Does Caroline prefer the curls?

Greg laughed at the idea, it wasn’t like Caroline paid any mind to his hair.  Ignoring the other comments, he responded to **thetortinghat**.  

 **struckachord** :  This wasn’t intentional.  I was caught in the rain.  My hair curls up when I don’t tame it.  

 **thetortinghat** :  Words of advice: 1) always carry an umbrella.  2) don’t tame your curls.  Let them do what they were meant to do.

Greg’s lips twitched.  She reminded him of Mycroft, who carried an umbrella in his book bag.  

A couple days later he met Mycroft for lunch, and when he sat down the other man contemplated him.  “Your hair is different.  You’ve decided to stop straightening it.”

Greg reached his hand up to touch his hair, but diverted it to rubbing the back of his neck.  He would like to believe that Mycroft noticed because he takes particular notice of Greg.  But the truth was that Mycroft was keenly observant of everything.  Adopting an air of nonchalance, he said, “I used to be teased about the curls when I was a kid, my friends said it looked too girly.  After that I always straightened it.  I finally realised I’m in uni now and it’s dumb to spend all that time on my hair when no one cares.  More efficient to just put a little gel in and let it go, right?”

Mycroft’s eyes twinkled.  “Indeed.  I think it suits you.  Very byronic.”

“Are you saying I’m a romantic?” Greg’s lips curved into a smile as he leaned forward.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.  “Aren’t you?”

Greg chuckled.  “The worst.”  It was true.  Before his ex-girlfriend cheated on him, he’d often daydreamed about them spending the rest of their life together. He even took her back because he loved her so much, but she ended up cheating on him again.  “I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve.  Sometimes I wonder if I come on too strong.”

Mycroft shrugged.  “People vary in their preferences for affection.  If car...” he suddenly coughed.  “Oh sorry.  Erm...I was saying, if the person you’re with thinks it is too much, then you might not be compatible.  Hypothetically speaking.”  

Greg nodded thoughtfully.  “What about you?  How are you on romance?”  Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.  “No wait!  Let me deduce it.  From what I’ve learned about you, when something captures your attention, you’re very intense, focused, and wholehearted in your pursuit of it.  So I would say that you’re the same way when it comes to romance.”

Mycroft fidgeted with his cup.  “Very good assessment of my personality, Gregory.”

Greg beamed.  He liked the way Mycroft referred to him by his full name.  He wouldn’t if anyone else did it, but the way Mycroft said it was kind of adorable.  Not for the first time he was wishing he was dating Mycroft.  He’d shower him with affection and adoration, and Mycroft would soak it up.

When they were finished with their lunch, Mycroft stood to take his tray to the waste bins.  “I’m attending a rugby game tomorrow with a friend. Would you like to join us?”  

Greg wondered if the “friend” was the girl he saw him with at that other rugby game.  “Yeah, sure!  Just text me where and went to meet you.”

*

“Let’s go over the rules one more time, shall we?”

Libbie groaned.  “You are driving me bonkers!  I promise I won’t bring up his videos.  I won’t mention your youtube username.  I won’t tell him how much you talk about him.  Especially his eyes and his curls and how he’s surprisingly intelligent and friendly and has a lovely voice and you want desperately to get into his pants if it weren’t for his girlfriend.”

He gave her a warning look.  “Libbie…”

“Oh yeah.  And I won’t bring up his girlfriend.  Now can we _go_?”

Mycroft took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “Fine, let’s go.”

When they got to the rugby field, they found Greg waiting in the stands.  “Gregory Lestrade, meet Elizabeth Smallwood.”

She gave him a cheeky grin.  “Nice to meet you.  I go by Libbie.”  She held out her hand.

Greg took her hand and raised it to his lips.  “Enchante, Libbie.”  Mycroft quelled a stab of jealousy.

She giggled.  “ _I like you_.”  They all sat down, with Mycroft in the middle.  

Greg leaned over Mycroft to address Libbie.  Mycroft tried and failed to ignore that he was pressing against him.   “I’ve seen the two of you here, before.  Big fans of rugby?”

Libbie laughed.  “Not really.  My and I became friends at a game in secondary school, and it’s a tradition at this point.”

“I don’t understand.  You don’t like rugby, but you attend just because you met at a game?”

Mycroft realised where this conversation was going, and he desperately wished he’d made it one of the rules.  “Libbie...I don’t think...”

She spoke over him.  “We didn’t meet at the game.  We already knew each other from class.  I’d been asking him out for weeks, and he kept brushing me off because he was too thick to realise what I was doing.  I took him to a rugby game thinking that would get his attention.  Well it did, but his attention wasn’t on me, and it wasn’t on the game.  It was on the _players_.”  She waggled her eyebrows.  Mycroft hoped a black hole would spontaneously appear in the stands and suck him into it.  Or Libbie.

Greg stared at her, then he stared at Mycroft, then he stared back at her.  “So when Mycroft said you were a friend, he really meant you were just a friend?  I thought you two were dating.”

Libbie snorted.  “Back then I _wanted_ us to be dating.  But once I realised Mycroft was never going to be interested in me that way, I settled for just being his friend.”  She looked at him fondly.  “And I’m glad I did.  He’s a really amazing person to have as a friend.”

Greg grinned, and Mycroft tried very hard not to melt under the sheer wattage of it.  “I’m learning that myself.”  Mycroft looked down, simultaneously thrilled and discomfited by the twin compliments.

The players started filing onto the pitch.  Mycroft had hoped that Libbie was done humiliating him, but that wasn’t to be.  “Anyway, I guess you’ve figured out by now that the real reason we come to these games is to ogle the players.”

Mycroft now understood that his list of rules had been painfully inadequate.  He risked a glance over at Greg, who was shaking with laughter.  Well, one silver lining was that apparently Greg wasn’t a homophobic.  Not that he was surprised.  From his videos it was clear that Greg was very tender and loving and had a beautiful heart.  Mycroft refused to believe someone with that capacity to love would have a narrow-minded view of it.

Greg scrutinized the field.  “Alright, so who’s the favourite?”

Libbie’s eyes sparkled.  “So far, the favourite is John Watson, number 8.  He’s got boyish good looks, all muscle...I particularly like his blonde hair.  Plus, he’s actually really good at rugby.  I think he’ll make captain at some point.  What was it you’d deduced about him, My?”

Mycroft lifted his chin, an attempt at nonchalance.  “He’s studying medicine, and will likely join the army upon graduation.  Partly to pay for school, but partly because he craves action.”

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, his eyes narrowed a bit.  “You planning to ask him out?”

Before Mycroft could respond, Libbie spoke up, the tone of her voice full of mischief.  “Of course not.  My _never_ pursues anyone he’s interested in.  He’s decided that romantic entanglements would be too much of a distraction from his work.  The Work is of paramount importance.”

“Is that true?”  Mycroft glanced at Greg, who seemed to look...dismayed.  

Mycroft shrugged.  “Weren’t you just pointing out yesterday how focused I am when pursuing something?  My career means everything to me.”  He squashed down the little voice in his head that said he was a lying liar who just told a great big LIE.

Greg slowly shook his head.  “Well, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed you feel that way.  I can’t imagine anything being more important than love.”

 _Typical_ , Mycroft mused to himself.  People in love always thought that everyone else should be, too.  What was life without love?  “I manage just fine without it.”  He blinked at the look Greg gave him...as if Mycroft’s words made him bereft.  “I don’t need your pity, Gregory.” 

Greg’s eyes went round.  “I don’t _pity_ you.  I just...sorry, never mind.  What about you, Libbie?”

Her lips quirked.  “My and I have similar career goals.  But unlike him, I think love is just as important as my work and I’m not _afraid_ of pursuing it.”  She gave Mycroft a sharp look and he wanted to elbow her.    

Greg smiled warmly at her.  “Glad to hear it.  Is it Watson you’ll be pursuing, then?”

She shook her head.  “And have my heart broken when he joins the Army?  Absolutely not.  I have considered Stamford.  He’s got a little meat on his bones.  I’ve always liked that.”  She winked at Mycroft.  “My thinks he’s studying medicine as well.”

Mycroft nodded.  “Indeed, I’ve observed that he and Watson have gotten closer since the start of term, which means they spend time together outside of rugby.”

Greg’s brow furrowed.  “Maybe they’re roommates.”

Mycroft shook his head.  “No, their behaviour at the first game indicated they were barely acquainted.  Now they have the camaraderie of two people who are experiencing the same hardships.  In this case, their coursework.”

Greg gently elbowed him.  “You’re really good at this stuff.”  Mycroft tried and failed to stop the flutter he felt whenever Greg complimented his deductions.  The only other person who appreciated them was Libbie.

To Mycroft’s relief, the game started.  Hopefully now the focus would be on the game and there’d be less of a likelihood that Libbie would share something else humiliating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t She Lovely https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xgb_gJm52u0
> 
> The thing with the curls is from me being utterly enchanted with Alec Scudder's curls in Maurice. And then I watched A Room With A View and Freddy Honeychurch's hair kept falling in his eyes because it was straightened. I am a sucker for curls, so they get a lot of love in this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

The next evening, Mycroft got an alert on his mobile that Greg was starting a video.  He quickly retrieved his laptop and wen to Greg’s channel.  “Hallo, love.  I’ve been thinking about how much I miss the way you look at me adoringly with those beautiful brown eyes.  When you’re not being a brat, of course.”  He wrinkled his nose and then started his guitar.  Mycroft recognised the song as Brown Eyed Girl. 

Mycroft realised this was the first tidbit of information that Greg has shared about his girlfriend.  Other than that she liked The Importance of Being Earnest.  He didn’t actually want to know anything about her.  The less he knew, the less real she seemed.  But now he’s learned something physical about her, something concrete.  She has brown eyes, through which she has the honour and privilege to gaze at Greg and to see that adoration mirrored in his own eyes.  

When Greg wrapped up and turned off the live feed, Mycroft half-heartedly perused the comments coming in.  Usually he made a quip of some sort, but this time he felt too disconsolate.  His eye caught on one comment from  **mad4mendes** that had a response from Greg and then a flurry of replies.  He recognised it as Brittney’s username.  

**mad4mendes** : That’s so cute that you both have brown eyes!

**struckachord** :  Yeah, we got them from Mum.  In fact, my father used to sing this song to her when they were dating.

**mad4mendes** : What do u mean? How did ur girlfriend get brown eyes from ur mum?

**struckachord** :  What? I don’t have a girlfriend.  I’m talking about my sister.

**unicornluvr** : OMGOMGOMG!!  Caroline is ur SISTER?!?!    

**mad4mendes** : We thought Caroline was ur long-distance girlfriend!

**struckachord** :   Wait, really?!  

Mycroft stared at the screen in amazement, his heart knocking in his chest.  Caroline was his sister.  Not his girlfriend.  He didn’t have a girlfriend.  But wait, he  _ said  _ he did.  Mycroft thought back to that conversation.  Greg said she watch _ ed _ it over and over - past tense.  Then he’d winced a little, which at the time Mycroft attributed to him missing her.  So she was an ex-girlfriend.  Or she was dead.  Balance of probability it was the former.

Mycroft decided to join in the conversation.

**thetortinghat** :  It all makes sense, now that I think about it.  Some of the songs were a little childish.

**struckachord** :  LOL, you think?  Isn’t She Lovely should have been a clue - it’s about a baby girl.  I sang it to her right after she was born.  It made my mum cry.

Mycroft’s heart ached reading this.  Not only was it completely adorable to think of Greg singing to a little baby, but it reminded him of his own experience when Sherlock was born.  He started to type a reply about how his mum’s favourite photo was of him holding his little brother for the first time, but he deleted it.  He didn’t want to share personal details and have Greg suspect it was him.  

**thetortinghat** :  That’s lovely.  How old were you?

**struckachord** :  I was 12.  Caroline’s only six.  I’ve sung to her practically every night since she’s been born.  She was very upset about me going off to uni.  Hence the videos.

Once again Mycroft wanted to comment, this time about his opposite experience.  At 12, Sherlock had been more than happy for Mycroft to leave.  It was one less person to monitor his behaviour.

Replies from other people came in, but he ignored them.  Mycroft’s mobile rang.  It was Libbie.  “ _ So _ .  She’s not his girlfriend,” she said without preamble.  “How are we feeling about that?”

Mycroft sighed.  “It’s irrelevant.  He has had a girlfriend before, which means he’s straight.”  

“He could be bi.”

“Still irrelevant, Libbie.  We’ve been over this.  I’m not getting involved with someone.”

“Hmm, I’d say it’s too late for that.”

“ _ Libbie _ .”  He took several deep breaths, trying to overcome this feeling of foreboding.  He’d thought himself safe.  Greg had a girlfriend.  He could admire his videos, and there’d be no danger.  He could befriend him in an attempt to control his emotions, and there’d be no danger.  Now there was no girlfriend.  Only a little sister that he doted on and  _ christ  _ was that endearing.  Feeling a little desperate, he blurted, “Libbie, you need to ask him out.”

“ _ What _ ?”  

“Come on, why not?  He likes you.  He kissed your hand.  He enjoyed talking to you at the rugby game.  He seemed very happy when you said you weren’t dating me.  And happier still when you said you were open to love.”

“Mycroft Holmes, you utter prat.  Of course I’m not going to date Greg.  I would never do that to you.”

“What are you talking about?  I would be thrilled.  My two good friends together?  It’s perfect.”  Mycroft hoped that wasn’t hysteria in his voice.

“It is the most sacrosanct rule of friendships that one does  _ not  _ date someone that their friend is in love with or has ever been in love with.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Libbie!  I’ve barely known him a month, I’m not in love with him!”

“You are well on your way, do  _ not  _ try to bullshit me.”

Mycroft screwed up his face.  “Fine!  I do have it bad for him.  And the only thing that’s kept me from making an utter fool out of myself is believing him to be unattainable.  I don’t know what I would do if I found out he’s attracted to men.  I’d have no defence against my heart whatsoever.”  The last words he barely got out over the constriction of his throat.

There was a long silence.  Then a noisy exhale.  “Oh  _ My _ .  He’s probably straight, alright?  We already think Watson’s bisexual, so he pretty much fills the quota for us.”

“Thank you, Libbie.”  He felt his heartbeat start to calm a bit.  He didn’t know what he would do without his best friend.     

*

Hindsight was 20/20.  Greg was wishing he’d never revealed that Caroline was his sister.  Apparently the only thing stopping most of his commenters from hitting on him was their belief that he was taken.  Now that it was revealed he was single, he was having to delete quite a few sexual offers.  A few months ago he might have been tempted to meet up with one or three of these girls.  But he was completely unable to feel the slightest bit of interest in an anyone else but Mycroft.  

Ever since the revelations at the rugby game, Greg’s brain has been a constant loop of “Mycroft likes men, Mycroft is gay, Mycroft likes men.”  He kept having to remind himself that Mycroft  _ also  _ revealed he was married to his work or whatever that nonsense had been about.  It was completely unfair.  He was beautiful and perfect and deserved to have love lavished on him, not keep his heart and body locked away like a monk.

Not even  **thetortinghat** , appealing as she was, could distract him away from his funk over Mycroft.  He did like her, though.  She seemed to be the only commenter who was engaging and clever and, ironically, hadn’t made a pass at him.  Greg wondered if there was something wrong with him.  He seemed to be attracted to people who weren’t attracted to him.  

Once again he found himself venting to his father.  “My dear Gregory, I must be your father for a moment and remind you that you are in your first year of university and your focus is to be on your studies.  This friend of yours has the correct approach.”

Greg muttered, “I knew you’d say that.”

“And now that I have that out of the way, let me ask you something.  Do you value the friendship you have with Mycroft, or were you just spending time with him in the hopes of getting into his pants?”

Greg was mortified.  “ _ Papa _ ! Of course I value his friendship.”

“Do you wish to keep being friends with him, even with the danger that your feelings for him may deepen while his remain the same?”

Greg’s face crumpled, because he could see exactly that happening.  “I do,” he said, his voice small.

“Then this is my advice to you:  Keep doing exactly as you have been doing.  Spend time with him, be the friend that he wants.  Flirt with him a little, as I know that is in your nature, but don’t make him uncomfortable.  You have to respect his beliefs.  If you get to the point where you feel resentful that he is not returning your affections, then step away.”

Greg knew his father was right, but…  “What if he’s doing this because he’s scared of being in love?  His friend Libbie implied that he’s afraid.”

“If that is the case, then only time will tell.  If he is attracted to you, then your friendship may grow into something more. It would be a most triumphant outcome if he were to conquer his fears in order to love you.  But again, I warn you:  do not have any expectations that this will happen. Expectations unfulfilled lead to resentment.”

“I understand, Papa.  And I agree.  Mycroft is a wonderful friend and he deserves for me to be the same to him.”

“Good.  Bon courage, fiston.” 

*

One night Tom invited Greg to go have a pint with him while Kayla was occupied with helping a friend through a breakup.  They chose a pub across from campus.  When they sat down at the bar, Greg thought he recognised the guy next to him.  “Hey, aren’t you on the rugby team?  Stamford, right?”

Stamford beamed at him.  “Yeah, that’s right.  Mike Stamford.”  He held out his hand and Greg shook it.  

“I’m Greg Lestrade, this is Tom Davies.”  

Tom shook Mike’s hand.  “I didn’t know you’ve been going to the games, Greg.”

“Yeah, I’ve been with Mycroft and Libbie.”  He looked over at Mike.  “Speaking of which, I know a girl who thinks you’re cute.”  He winked.

Mike’s eyebrows raised.  “You don’t say?  Wouldn’t mind an introduction.  I don’t get many girls interested in me.  They all go for John Watson.  He’s one of my teammates.  We call him Three Continents Watson cuz in the short time he’s been here he’s pulled international students.”

Greg gave him a quizzical look.  “Why international students?”

“He knows a bit of Spanish and Russian.”

Tom nodded.  “That’ll do it, I guess.  Greg speaks French, though he hasn’t seen fit to use it with any girls.”

Greg blushed. “I’ve been trying to concentrate on making friends.  There’s plenty of time for romance once I’ve gotten established.”

Tom looked amused.  “Yeah, sure,  _ that’s  _ the reason.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you talk about Mycroft.”

Greg groaned.  “Christ, am I that transparent?”

Tom clapped him on the shoulder.  Mike gave them a befuddled look, so Tom clarified.  “Greg here is in the friend zone pining for his mate, Mycroft.  I keep hoping he’ll get over it and hook up with one of the many lovely ladies that are crushing on him.”  Greg winced a little, not really thrilled that Tom was laying bare his heart and his sexual preferences to this stranger.

Stamford shook his head, his expression sympathetic.  “That’s rough, mate.  I’m gonna buy you a pint.  You bloody well need it!”  Greg smiled in relief.

They shared several pints, and Greg was amused to find out that Mike was planning to be a doctor, and so was his friend John. On his way back from the bathroom, he texted Mycroft to let him know.  “Having a pint with Stamford from the rugby team.  You were right about him and Watson.”

He snorted when he got a response right away, “Of course. MH”

“Should I introduce him to Libbie? Was she serious about liking him?”

There was a pause.  “She would be fine with an introduction.  You aren’t interested in her yourself?  MH”

Greg rubbed his face.  Bugger.  How did he respond that he wasn’t without telegraphing the real reason?  He was a bit too tipsy to have good judgment, so he went with a simple, “Um, not really.”  He hoped that would be enough.  

“Oh, my mistake. You were very friendly to her at the game.  MH”  Greg’s brow knitted. Hard to tell tone in a text.  Was that jealousy or Mycroft being observant as usual?

“I was friendly because I’m trying to make friends.  Also a bit of a flirt, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.  ;)”

“I hadn’t noticed, as I’ve only observed you interacting with Libbie.  Hence why I thought you were interested in her.  MH”

Greg stared at his screen.  He’d meant of course his relentless flirting with Mycroft.  He hadn’t noticed?  How could someone so observant miss when someone’s flirting with him?  

Greg knew a girl in sixth form who was oblivious to his friend Joe’s attempts to flirt with her.  She seemed genuinely startled when he finally just asked her out.  She later said that no one ever showed an interest in her, so she hadn’t recognised the signs.  

Was Mycroft like that?  Did he have a similar mental block about his own attractiveness?  Greg wondered if this was part of the reason why he purposefully dedicated himself to work instead of romance.  Maybe he doesn’t think anyone was interested.

Greg wasn’t sure what he should say. His brain was fuzzy from beer.  “I flirt with everyone.  Including you, berk.”

There was another long moment, during which Greg wondered if he’d said too much.  “Fascinating. MH”  Well thanks for that cryptic answer, Mister Spock.

“Lestrade!”  Greg looked up to see Mike waving him over.  He realised he’d gotten distracted with texting Mycroft.  He made his way back to the bar.  “Look who joined us!  It’s John!”  He indicated the shorter man next to him who was ordering a drink.  John looked up at Greg, and gave him a charming smile.  He had lovely blue eyes, though they weren’t as nice as Mycroft’s.  Greg gave him his own charming smile.  Mike elbowed him.  “Don’t get your hopes up, Greg.  John insists that he’s straight as an arrow.”

John glared at Mike, and Greg put his hands up.  “I wasn’t trying to flirt, it just comes naturally.”  It seemed he was defending his flirting a lot tonight.

John shook his head.  “It’s not you, mate, it’s Mike taking the piss.  He seems to think I’m into men, which I’m  _ not _ !”

Mike squeezed his shoulder.  “I’m just trying to be supportive, let you know it’s all fine.”  John pinched his nose and muttered curses.

Greg felt sorry for him.  “Look Mike, you really shouldn’t push him.  If he isn’t gay, you’re just pissing him off.  If he is, then he’s got to come out in his own time.”  

Mike gave him a sheepish look and nodded.  “You’re right.  Sorry, John.”

John looked grateful.  “Ta.  I appreciate it.”  Mike turned to get another drink.  John cleared his throat.  “So, you’re gay?”

“I’m bisexual.  I’ve been with both men and women.”

John raised his eyebrows.  “Really?”  He licked his lips.  Oh boy.  John glanced over at Mike, who was now engrossed in a conversation with Tom.  He leaned slightly closer to Greg.  “I’ve never met any men that are out as bi.  Do you...uh...have a preference?”

Greg shrugged.  “Sexually, I’d say men.  Not that I have a lot of experience, but it just seems like there’s more you can do with them.  And they tend to have a better understanding of what feels good...you know, having the same equipment.”  He winked, and John looked away and licked his lips again.  Yep, probably Mike was right.  “Relationship-wise, I dunno because I’ve only had one and it was with a girl.”

John tilted his head.  “I would think with all the bigotry out there, it’d be easier to just date girls, yeah?”

Greg shrugged again.  “Sure it would be easier.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.  There’s a boy I know...if I thought for one second he’d be my boyfriend, I wouldn’t hesitate to make him mine.  And I’d shout it from the rooftops.”

John gave him a small smile.  “Well, if he doesn’t want to be your boyfriend, he sounds like a right git.  You seem like a uh..a good catch.”  John cleared his throat and looked away.  Greg had a feeling that he could have him if he put his mind to it.  But he wasn’t interested.  Let some other bloke charm him out of the closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brown Eyed Girl https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xgb_gJm52u0


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft was looking forward to dinner with Greg.  He hadn’t seen him in five days, which relatively speaking wasn’t a lot of time.  But given how often they’d been seeing each other, it felt like ages.  Mycroft had been busy with research for several projects, and admittedly feeling apprehensive about how he would act around Greg now that he knew he wasn’t in a relationship.  He went inside the cafe and drank in the sight of Greg looking at the announcement board.  “Gregory.”

He turned at the sound of his name, and his face lit up when he saw Mycroft.  “Mycroft!  I’m so glad to see you!”

Mycroft felt warmth oozing everywhere inside him.  “I know, I’ve been much too busy.”

Greg lifted his hand and grasped Mycroft’s arm above his elbow.  “Look at this, the school’s putting on a Christmas concert.  I can’t believe it’s December already.”  Mycroft felt like his arm was burning at the point of contact.  “Do you like instrumental concerts?”

“Yes.  As a matter of fact, I’ve been in a few.  I played piano growing up.  Sherlock plays the violin.”

“Oh, nice.  I play guitar.  But I wasn’t classically trained.  I learned on youtube.”  He gave his little self-deprecating laugh.

“I’m impressed.  I don’t know if I would have had the discipline to learn an instrument without the stern eyes of my instructor keeping me in line.”  Mycroft was indeed impressed, given that he’s well acquainted with Greg’s playing.

Greg grinned.  “You want to go to the concert together? It’s next week.”

“I would love to, Gregory.”  They went to order their food and sat down at a free table. 

“Hey, remember when I texted you that I met Mike Stamford?  After that, John Watson came into the pub and I got to know him, too.  He confirmed your Army deduction.  You are amazing, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled.  “I don’t always get everything right.  There’s usually something.”  LIke the fact that Caroline was Greg’s sister, not his girlfriend.

“They were great guys, not like some of the rugby players I used to know.  Intelligent.  Though that makes sense with them studying medicine.  We even exchanged mobile numbers.”

Mycroft couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy that he’d no longer get to monopolize Greg.  “I’m glad to see that you are meeting new people.  I remember when we first met you were lamenting your lack of friendships.”

“And you stepped in to be my first friend.  It’s odd to think we’ve known each other only a month.  Seems much longer.”

“I concur.  I feel as comfortable with you as I am with Libbie.  Maybe it’s the amount of time we’ve spent together.  Of course now you’ll be making time for your new friends.”  He was unable to prevent the hint of sadness in his tone.

Greg looked up at him.  “I suppose.  But you get dibs.”  He grinned.  Mycroft couldn’t help a shy grin in return.  “And we can always get together as a group.  We should plan something so that Libbie and Mike can meet.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes.  “Are you sure you don’t want to date Libbie yourself?  She’s a very attractive girl.”

Greg scowled.  “Are you trying to matchmake or something?”

Mycroft shook his head.  “No, not really.  I guess I just haven’t seen you show an interest in anyone since I’ve met you.”  Which hadn’t seemed odd when he thought Caroline was his girlfriend.  “I’m used to people constantly having the urge to pair up.  And you yourself said you think love is the most important thing.”

“It is, and that’s why you can’t rush it.  People want so badly to be in a relationship that they settle for whoever.  I say, if it happens, it happens.  Don’t force it.  That’s what my parents did.”

“But didn’t your mother force it?  You said she refused to take your father’s no for an answer.”

“It’s not the same thing.  I’m talking about forcing yourself to feel something for someone because you’re afraid of being alone and because conventional wisdom is that people should be paired up, as you say.  With my parents, it was the opposite.  My father was afraid of loving my mother because conventional wisdom said that she was too young, and he had nothing to offer her.  He used his investigation as an excuse, but really it was fear.  And she saw through that.  She knew that there was something special between them.  She didn’t want him to throw away the chance at happiness.”

Greg leaned forward.  “Look, it’s one thing if you’re aromantic or if your career genuinely makes you happier than any person ever could.  But what if someone comes along that makes you feel like the world seems brighter, more colourful...supersaturated almost.  If someone makes you feel like that all the time, don’t throw it away because you’ve told yourself at one point in your life that you didn’t want it.  Besides, I don’t really understand why you think love is incompatible with your career.  There’s no vow of chastity in the government.”

Mycroft gave him a quelling look, even as his insides quaked at these things Greg was saying.  Why was he trying so hard to change Mycroft’s mind?  “Of course people in my career track get married, but it’s often hard on the spouse.  I would have to keep many secrets, be gone long hours, I’d make enemies.”

“I get that.  When I become a cop, it’ll be much the same thing.  And I understand if someone wouldn’t want to sign up for that life.  It’s one of the reasons why my father was still single in his 40s.  But you don’t preemptively make that decision for them.” 

Mycroft’s nostrils flared as he exhaled.  “How did this conversation take such a turn?  Talking about juggling spouses and careers.  That’s a long time from now.”

Greg shrugged.  “Well, isn’t that why we’re here at uni?  To figure out what we want to do with our lives?  Every aspect of our lives matters.  If it was  _ just  _ about building a career, we’d all do on-the-job training or whatever.”

Mycroft gazed at him mournfully.  “Gregory, I think in some ways you’re wise beyond your years.  But in other ways, you are far too idealistic.  A hopeless romantic.”

Greg laughed ruefully.  “Oh I’m sure once I become a cop, that idealism will get beaten down.  But I’ll always be a romantic, no matter how much I’ve been hurt.”

Mycroft tilted his head.  “Are you speaking of your ex-girlfriend?  The one who liked The Importance of Being Earnest?”

“Not just her, but yeah she was the one who hurt me the most.  She cheated on me with some bloke on the football team.  Begged me to take her back, which I did because I was gaga over her.  Then she cheated on me again, with the PE teacher of all people.  Christ.  Do you know how close I came to taking her back after she begged  _ again _ ?  My father helped me to see sense.”  Greg smiled.  “He’s the one who makes me sound wise beyond my years.  All the advice he’s given me growing up.  He’s a good man.”

Mycroft gave a small smile.  “Indeed.”  His expression hardened.  “I’m sorry about your girlfriend, she sounds like a perfectly horrid person.  If you tell me her name, when I become the most powerful man in the British government I’ll be sure to make her pay for what she’s done to you.”

Greg suppressed a smile.  “So that’s your aspiration?  To be the most powerful man in the British government?  I think you’ve got what it takes.”

Mycroft inclined his head.  “Thank you.”

Greg looked down at his plate, then glanced up slightly, gazing at Mycroft through his lashes.  “I think anyone who puts his mind to becoming that powerful can also find a way to love.”

Mycroft’s heart seized, but he feigned exasperation.  “ _ Gregory _ .”

Greg held up his hands.  “Fine, I’ll stop.  I’ve said my piece.”

*

When Mycroft got back to his room, his mobile alerted him that Greg was starting a video.  He took out his laptop and unashamedly gazed at Greg on the screen.  “Hallo Caroline, my love.  Tonight’s song was at Mum’s request, from her favourite movie.  To explain to the other folks watching, my mum was a professional dancer, and it all started when she saw Footloose as a young girl.  The passion they had for dancing ignited something in her, and she’s been at it ever since.  It’s also partly responsible for her marriage.  It seems my father had a bit of a resemblance to Kevin Bacon.”  He winked and started playing the title song.

Mycroft watched him sing, his chin propped on his hand.  Greg himself resembled Kevin Bacon a little.  He must take after his father, then.  Mycroft wondered if that meant in 20 years he’d be a silver fox. It was hard to imagine that far into the future.  Would he still know Greg, then?  He very much hoped so.

Mycroft thought of what Greg had told him about his father.  He’d been afraid to love, probably after too many years as an inspector, and relationships that failed because of his work.  Then he’d met Greg’s mother and fell so hard for her that he followed her back to her own country.  Greg mentioned he was a consultant.  Probably wasn’t able to join the police here in the UK.  At the time they didn’t accept foreigners.  Apparently it all worked out.  They were still together, and raised a son who was just as optimistic about love as they were.  

Mycroft wondered why he was not similarly inspired by his own parents.  They were disgustingly besotted with one another.  Perhaps because he’d given up on the notion that such a thing could happen to him.  Love would come easily to someone as divine as Greg.  Who wouldn’t want to follow him to the ends of the earth?  No one would ever want Mycroft that much.  

When Greg finished the video and signed off, Mycroft felt bereft.  He found himself going back to one of the other videos.  Lullaby was a favourite.  It was the song Greg was singing when Mycroft laid eyes on him the first time.  

Greg did make him feel like what he described earlier, as if the world was supersaturated.  But even if there was a remote chance that Greg could return his feelings, it would be a mistake to pursue it.  Just because both their parents ended up happy didn’t mean they would.  Relationships ended with alarming frequency. Mycroft couldn’t afford to be distracted from his career for something that was statistically unlikely to last.

*

In less than two weeks, Greg would be going home for the holidays and he knew he’d miss Mycroft terribly.  He’d hated it when they didn’t see each other for five days, even though they texted constantly.  After that, he made sure to coax Mycroft into not letting his studies consume him, arguing that he needed a break every once in awhile, even if it was just a coffee or a short stroll or an episode of Doctor Who.

The Christmas concert was fun.  Greg put on his suit, and Mycroft wore one as well. Afterwards they chatted for a long time over coffee, with Greg having the gingerbread-flavoured drink because it made him think of Mycroft.  He felt a bit like they were on a date, instead of two friends.  He had to keep reminding himself that they  _ were  _ just friends and, as his father had advised, not be resentful about the fact that Mycroft was stubbornly adhering to his moratorium on romance.  

A few days later he recorded a video, saying it was the last one for the year, since in less than a week he’d be home and seeing his darling sister again.  “I’m going to play You’re My Best Friend, which is a favourite of my parents.  Of course Caroline isn’t my best friend, but a lot of the feelings in the song apply to anyone you’re close to.”  The truth was that he wanted to play it because he was going to miss Mycroft.  Friday night was the last day of the semester and they were going to a house party being held by the rugby team.

When Greg finished the song, he checked the responses.  There was one from his favourite commenter.

**thetortinghat** :  I very much enjoyed the song, as usual.  You say that Caroline is not your best friend.  Do you have one?

**struckachord** :  I do, actually.  I’ve only met him this year at uni, but he’s the best friend I ever had.  Not even my mates in secondary school were this easy to talk to.

Greg wanted to say he was thinking of him when he sang the song, but was afraid that it would telegraph his feelings.  It seemed like it was a long time before he got a response.

**Thetortinghat** :  That’s really lovely.  I’m sure he equally cherishes your friendship.

**mad4mendes** : But the song’s not about that kind of mate.  It’s about the romantic kind.  ;)   You have one of those?  

Greg shook his head in exasperation.  He ignored it and logged off, as he generally did when he didn’t want to engage with the more flirtatious commenters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footloose https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6x-s5vM3_zM  
> (I love that she’s French!)
> 
> You’re My Best Friend https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8YXmxv7LLw


	6. Chapter 6

Greg saw Mycroft a couple more times before the party.  They chatted about their plans for the break.  Mycroft didn’t have much going on other than suffer through visits with relatives and looking after Sherlock.  Greg mentioned his father had a job lined up for him at a museum that could continue on through the rest of the term as it didn’t require a lot of hours.  Greg wanted to ask Mycroft if they could see each other during the break, since they’d both be in London.  But he was feeling shy, afraid of pushing.  

They agreed that Greg would go to the party first and make sure that Mike was there, then Mycroft and Libbie would come together.  Greg found Mike and John easily enough and settled in to chat with them.  They were on their fourth drink and feeling loose when Mycroft and Libbie finally walked in.  Greg pointed them out.  Mike’s eyes widened.  “Are you taking the piss, Greg?  There’s no way a girl like that’s even remotely interested in someone like me.”

Greg knew that Mike seemed to think being overweight = unattractive.  He clapped his hand on Mike’s shoulder.  “Nah, mate.  She said she likes a man with girth.”

Mike gave him a befuddled look.  “Did someone tell her I have a big cock?”

Greg stared at him incredulously.  “What the hell you on about?”

“You said she likes girth.  You know.   _ Girth _ .”

John started giggling next to them.  Greg snorted.  “No, you wanker.  I was talking about this, big boy.”  He patted Mike’s stomach.  “Her exact words were that she likes her men to have meat on their bones.”  John was doubled over at this point. 

Mike blushed.  “You  _ sure _ ?  She looks more well-matched with the guy next to her.”

“That’s Mycroft.  And he’s  _ mine _ .  Well...I mean.  You know what I mean.  Come on, let’s do this.”  He lurched over to Mycroft and Libbie.  “Hey, you two.  We’d almost given up on you.”

Libbie gave them a thousand watt smile.  “Sorry about that, but we had to make the rounds of all my girlfriends.  Say goodbye before the break.  If I didn’t, they’d be texting me all night while I’m here trying to get to know you.”  She said this last bit in Mike’s direction, and the tips of his ears turned brick red. “Libbie Smallwood.”  She held out her hand.

Mike took it reverentially.  “Mike Stamford.”

Conflicting emotions flooded through Greg.  On the one hand he was happy for them that they seemed to click right away.  On the other hand….the bitter pill of envy.  He seized Mycroft’s wrist.  “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”  He started to pull Mycroft away, and then paused.  “Oh.  Mycroft Holmes, meet John Watson.”  He watched, amused, as they said hello and then seemed to be sizing each other up.  Shaking his head, he pulled Mycroft towards the drink table.  

Mycroft leaned in to whisper in Greg’s ear as he assembled something with vodka in it.  “I think I was right about him being bisexual.  Libbie and I have been speculating on it since the first game.”

Greg smirked.  “It’s not that impressive a deduction.  Even Mike figured it out.  John is definitely bi, and he’s definitely in denial about it.”  

He knew that it would get Mycroft’s goat, and he was right.  Mycroft lifted his chin.  “Have you deduced that he’s in denial about his attraction to  _ you _ ?”

Greg laughed.  “How do you think I figured out he was bi?  I know when someone’s hot for me.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.  “Do you?”  He took the drink Greg offered and sipped it.  “Not bad.  Thank you.”  

Greg’s smiled fondly.  “I know what you like.”  He winked. 

As he turned to make himself a drink, it almost sounded like Mycroft murmured, “Hmmm.”

Mike did a good job of holding his liquor well enough to have fun with Libbie without humiliating himself.  Greg and John were not as gifted.  They were approached frequently by girls who seemed to be fans of Greg’s videos and John’s rugby.  They’d oblige and dance with them, but every time a song would end, Greg would get another drink and John would follow him to talk some more.  He was also getting increasingly handsy.  Greg was feeling too drunk to care anything about it, but he really just wanted to spend the time with Mycroft.  Mycroft seemed content (?) to sit in a corner nursing his drink.  

Fed up with getting attention from girls and from John and nothing from Mycroft, Greg marched over to him, leaning down over him with his hands on the arms of his chair.  “Mycroft, you’re not doing anything.  You’re not talking, you’re not dancing.  Come dance with me.”

Mycroft glared at him.  Why was he glaring?  “Why don’t you dance with John?  He clearly wants to.”

Greg huffed and Mycroft wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t want to dance with him.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t be leading him on.  If he’s on the verge of realising he likes men, it could be a setback for him if the man he’s into doesn’t feel the same.”

Greg shook his head as he straightened up, which made him feel dizzy.  “He knows very well that I’m not interested in him.  He doesn’t  _ want  _ me to come on to him.  He’d freak the fuck out if I did.”  Greg waved his hands.  “All he’s doing is touching me more than he’d usually touch a bloke to figure out how it feels.  I don’t mind.  It’s not like I’ve got a  _ date  _ that would object to it.”  Greg said the last somewhat bitterly.

Mycroft slowly stood up.  “Why haven’t you got a date, Gregory?  There seems to be an endless number of girls who are very interested in you.”

Greg inhaled deeply.  “Because I’m not interested in  _ them _ .”

Mycroft said softly, “Who are you interested in?”

Greg pressed his lips together to prevent himself blurting out the truth.  “I already told you, Mycroft, I’m just concentrating on making friends right now.  And you’re my best friend.  Come dance with me.”

He grabbed Mycroft’s wrist again and pulled him to where most people were dancing.  He vaguely registered that the song playing was Slow Hands.  Perfect.  He put Mycroft’s hands on his hips and he hooked his hands around the back of Mycroft’s neck, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers in his silky ginger hair.  “See, we’re having fun.”

Mycroft swallowed hard, his hands twitching on Greg’s hips.  “You don’t seem to have a problem with men touching you or dancing with you.  Does that mean you’re…”  He paused, as if reluctant to say.  “...secure in your masculinity?”

Greg snorted with laughter.  “Course I am.”  His brain was feeling too wooly to follow the logic of Mycroft’s question.  Obviously the reason was because he was bi.  If Mycroft was able to deduce that John was bi and in denial about it just from watching him on a rugby field, then he would certainly have figured out long ago about Greg’s orientation.          

Greg’s eyes started to droop.  Apparently the all-nighters trying to finish projects were catching up to him.  He leaned forward and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.  “God, I’m tired.”  He punctuated his comment with a yawn.

Mycroft’s voice sounded a little strained as he responded.  “I’m sure the alcohol isn’t helping.”

“Mmmm, it helps me not give a shit.  That’s why I like it.”  Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s neck,  _ god  _ his skin was so soft.  He felt Mycroft’s breath hitch.

“Gregory, I think I should take you back to your room.”

“That’s a splendid idea, Mycroft.  You get that from the song?”

Greg felt Mycroft’s hands move from his hips to his shoulders and then he was gently being pushed away.  Mycroft’s face and neck and even the tips of his ears were tinted pink.  It was delightful.  Mycroft took a deep breath and then gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  He put his arm around Greg’s shoulder and steered him over to say goodbye to Libbie, then got their coats.  

The walk back to Greg’s dorm was quiet.  He mainly concentrated on staying upright, though that proved difficult when he became mesmerized with the sight of his breath fogging the night air.  Wow, that never got old.  He giggled, and the fog created from his laughter made him giggle harder.  Soon they were at the dorm and Mycroft was leading him to his room.  Tom wasn’t in, probably spending the night with Kayla.

Greg fumbled his coat off.  Mycroft seemed indecisive.  “Um...do you need help with...anything?”  He looked pained.

Greg shook his head, which felt so heavy.  “Nah, I’m good.”

“Okay then.  Well, I guess I’d better go.”  He turned hesitantly towards the door.

“Mycroft!”  On impulse, Greg surged towards him and threw his arms around his neck.  He was on the verge of kissing him, but then he saw the look of panic on Mycroft’s face.  Bloody hell.  At the last instant, Greg pulled him in for a hug instead, heartily slapping his back as bro-like as he could manage.  “I’m gonna miss you, mate.”  He pulled away.  

Mycroft was breathing hard, as if he’d dodged a bullet.  “I will miss you, too, Gregory.  See you in three weeks.”  He fled.

Greg dropped down onto his bed and curled up on his side, ignoring the pricking behind his eyes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No songs sung by Greg in this chapter, but it does feature Slow Hands: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBmNcLBaPUE


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning note: There is a true crime museum in Sussex, but not one in London. But this is fiction, so et voila! True crime museum in London.

Mycroft wasn’t even remotely enjoying his break.  The moment he stepped in the door of the family home, his parents took off to Oklahoma with their line dancing group.  They were gone a week while Mycroft looked after Sherlock.  Fortunately his school was still going till the 22nd, so he only had keep him out of trouble during the evening hours. Then his parents came back and shuttled them to Sussex to visit relatives.  They came back Christmas Eve and then Mycroft had to endure all the traditions and festivities.  The only bright spot was texting with Greg during the Doctor Who Christmas special.

By the end of Boxing Day he was ready to murder Sherlock.  His mother seemed to think it was because they were cooped up inside, so her brilliant solution was to  _ suggest  _ (read demand) that he take Sherlock somewhere fun the next day.  Normally, he would throw down the gauntlet, but he actually had the perfect place for them to go.  

Greg had mentioned that he got a job at a place called the True Crime Museum.  Mycroft looked up the website and it appeared to be full of lurid displays and artifacts about murders.  Other crimes, too, but mostly murders.  Sherlock would absolutely love it, since he’s abandoned his obsession with bees and was now fascinated with solving crimes.  Mycroft just had to figure out a way to get his brother engrossed enough in some exhibit that he could slip off and go find Greg without Sherlock tagging along.  He absolutely did not want them to meet because Sherlock would not fail to completely humiliate him.  

Mycroft texted him that they were coming, and they set off for the museum after breakfast.  Mycroft was a little apprehensive about seeing Greg.  It had been almost two weeks since he’d left Greg in his room, wasted and about to pass out.  What an ugly night that had been.  When he and Libbie got there, Greg and his two rugby  _ pals  _ were already well on their way to being drunk.  Watson, who was only slightly subtle about eyeing his teammates on the rugby field, became even more obvious when he’d been drinking.  Mycroft could tell immediately that he was just as affected by Greg’s good looks and charm as the girls who frequented his youtube channel. 

Greg didn’t seem to think anything of it.  He took it in stride along with the attention from an alarming number of girls that kept wanting to dance with him.  Mycroft settled into the corner and watched as they came at Greg, pulling him on the dance floor.  Then when they were done with him, John would take a turn pawing at him.  Mycroft couldn’t even distract himself by talking with Libbie because she was monopolized by Stamford.  It was horrid.  But even more horrid was when Greg came up to him and insisted they dance.  Having Greg’s arms around him had been torture.  Then Greg putting his head on his shoulder had been more than he could take.  He wanted Greg so very badly, and even though he was trying to be a good friend by taking him back to his room, it had been the worst test of his resolve.  

When Greg went to hug him goodbye, Mycroft thought for one brief second that Greg was going to kiss him.  He didn’t know why he imagined such a ridiculous thing, but he remembered not wanting it to happen.  If it did, every single wall that he’d carefully built around his heart would have crumbled into dust and probably his heart along with it.  There was no way that a kiss from a man that completely wasted would actually  _ mean  _ anything, and it would have meant everything to Mycroft.  He’d never been kissed and Greg was the only person on earth he wanted to kiss.

So now here he was about to see Greg, and he’d missed him  _ so much. _  It didn’t seem like from his texts that he had any memory of Mycroft’s petty jealousy and pining, so he hoped that meant the party was a blur.  

Mycroft patiently waited until they were in a room that would likely take Sherlock awhile to explore (something about letters from serial killers) and murmured, “Popping off to the loo.”  His brother ignored him as expected.  He found Greg in a room with some interactive displays where he was required to keep an eye on patrons who might abuse them.  Greg’s back was to him, but he knew it was him from the soft, dark brown curly hair.  That was probably the greatest achievement of Mycroft’s life, convincing Greg not to straighten his hair anymore.  “Gregory.”

Greg turned around, and when he saw Mycroft he gave him a lopsided grin.  “Hey, stranger.”  Mycroft went to stand next to him and Greg lifted his arm like he was going to put it around him but he just patted his shoulder instead.  “Your brother here with you?”

“I ditched him in another room.  I really have no desire for the two of you to meet.  You know how I like to make deductions?  He does the same thing, except he has no filter.  Libbie loathes him.  I just...don’t want any unpleasantness.”

Greg shrugged.  “I think I could take it, but fair enough.  It’s a shame you two don’t get along.  I hope my sister and I are always close.”

“I imagine things may become strained when you inevitably use your position as a police officer to investigate her dates.”

Greg barked with laughter.  “Oh, I think that’s gonna be a given.  You planning to do the same thing with Sherlock?  After all, you’ll be the most powerful man in the British Government.”  He gave Mycroft a teasing smile.

Mycroft sniffed.  “I doubt I will be that invested in his life.”

Greg narrowed his eyes.  “Nah, you will be.  The way you talk about him.  He means a lot to you, despite how he treats you.  And you’re the type that takes care of your own.  Look at the way you offered to do something vile to my ex-girlfriend.”

Mycroft felt his breath catch, wondering if Greg realised that his words were implying that he was one of Mycroft’s own.  “Speaking of girlfriends.  Met any young ladies since you’ve been working here?”

Greg scowled briefly.  “I’m trying to behave professionally and not use this job to socialize.  Except with you, of course.”  He winked at him.  “What about you?  Have you changed your mind about having a boyfriend?”

Mycroft lifted his chin.  “I thought you weren’t going to push me on this?”

“Says the man who was just butting into  _ my  _ love life.”

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open.  “It’s not the same thing!  I was merely inquiring after something that you have said would make you happy.  Meanwhile  _ you  _ are casting aspersions on something that makes  _ me  _ happy.”

An expression ghosted across Greg’s face that almost looked...pained.  “Does it really make you happy?”

_ Not even a little bit. _  “Yes.  Very much so.”

“Then I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I keep…  I think I need to listen to my father more.”

A voice chimed in behind them.  “Is your father how you got this job?”  Mycroft froze.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.   _ Sherlock _ .  He’d found them.  Mycroft should have kept better track of the time.

Greg turned and smiled down at him, though not too far down.  At almost 14 Sherlock was having a growth spurt.  “Yes, as a matter of fact.  He donated something a client gave him after he solved a famous cold case.  The curator offered the job to me as a favour.”  

Sherlock’s alien eyes widened.  “A client?  Was it a police officer?”

“Yes, my father did some consulting for him.”

“Consulting for the police?  Like helping them solve crimes?”

Greg chuckled.  “No, they wouldn’t have let him be involved in actual cases.  He was helping them to develop better skills for conducting investigations.  Things like that.”

Sherlock curled his lip.  “ _ Oh _ .  Boring.  I prefer the idea of working cases.  A consulting detective.”  He rubbed his chin.  “But your father  _ was  _ a policeman at some point.  And you want to follow in his footsteps.”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

Sherlock ignored him and went on.  “But instead of joining the Met right away, you’re going to uni with my brother.  Probably your mother’s idea.  Mums tend to be overprotective.  She’s hoping you’ll change your mind and do something else.”

Greg gave him an assessing look.  “Ah.  So you’re Sherlock.”

He rolled his eyes.  “ _ Obviously _ .”

Greg grinned.  “Nice to meet you, Sherlock.  I’m Greg Lestrade.  You got everything right.  Did Mycroft give you any hints?”

Sherlock looked offended.  “Of course not.  He didn’t even tell me his boyfriend worked here.  I should have known he wouldn’t voluntarily bring me someplace as cool as this.”

Mycroft coloured.  “Brother mine, Gregory is only a friend.  We’re not dating.”

Sherlock scowled.  “Are you sure?”

Mycroft suppressed the urge to strangle him.  “Quite sure.”

Sherlock pursed his lips.  “Hmm..it’s always something.”  He turned and headed over to one of the interactive displays.  “Laterz!”

Mycroft looked apprehensively at Greg.  Greg folded his arms and tried to look offended, but then he burst into laughter.  “Why were you so worried about him meeting me?  I thought he was great.”

Mycroft felt some of the tension leave him.  “You didn’t find some of his deductions too personal?  I didn’t even know the bit about your mum.”

“It’s not like he revealed something humiliating.”

“The day’s still young.”  

Greg quirked a smile.  “Hey, um...I can’t really keep chatting with you or I may get in trouble.  But my lunch break is in an hour and a half.  There’s a decent cafe across the street.  You and Sherlock want to have lunch with me?  You should be done with the museum by then.”

Mycroft debated whether he wanted to prolong the exposure between Sherlock and Greg.  But he wanted to continue to see Greg in a setting where he wasn’t distracting him from his job.  “I’d love that.  Sherlock probably won’t eat anything.  He tends to consider food...superfluous.  But I can get him a book from the gift shop and he’ll occupy himself with that while we chat.”

Greg grinned.  “Perfect!”

To Mycroft’s relief, the lunch went well.  Sherlock pored over the thick and hideously expensive volume on unsolved murder cases while Mycroft and Greg chatted.  Greg talked about how he tried to meet up with some of his old friends from secondary school, but they were still shunning him.  He did go to a pub a couple times with Libbie, Mike and John, and he’d wished Mycroft had been there.  Mycroft remembered Libbie inviting him, but he’d been occupied with family.  But they would all see each other at Libbie’s New Years Eve party.  Mycroft hoped it wouldn’t be like the last party they went to.

*

A couple of nights later, Mycroft was surprised when his mobile notified him that Greg was starting a video.  He was at home, why would he be recording a song for his sister?  Mycroft pulled out his laptop and went to Greg’s youtube channel.

It was strange seeing Greg in different surroundings than what he was used to.  The bed Greg was sitting on (and Mycroft really didn’t want to think about that) was larger, with more pillows and a duvet in a warm brown colour with a blue geometrical design.  There was a poster on the wall behind him of the Ramones.  It made Mycroft realise that he didn’t know a whole lot about what Greg usually listened to.  His music selection in the videos had been tailored for Caroline.

Greg inhaled deeply.  He looked...pensive.  “Tonight’s song isn’t for my sister.  It’s for someone else I’ve been thinking about.”  He winced and then sighed.  “I don’t even know why I turned this thing on.  I just really needed to sing this.  To  _ you _ . Even if you aren’t listening.”  He started playing something that Mycroft vaguely recognised.  When he sang the lyrics, that was when he figured it out.  Fallingforyou by The 1975.  

Mycroft’s heart started hammering.  He was singing a song about  _ falling for someone _ .  “...we'll knock around and see if you're all I need.  Don't you see me? I..I think I'm falling, I'm falling for you.  And don't you need me…”  Who was it?  Greg never showed an interest in anyone!  “And maybe you change your mind.  I think I'm falling, I think I'm falling.”  Mycroft tried to think of who Greg’s been recently spending time with.  Just Libbie and Mike and John.  Was it Libbie?  Was he regretting setting her up with Stamford?  

There was a noise behind Mycroft and he whipped his head around.  Sherlock was looking at the laptop screen.  “That’s the boy from the museum.  Graham, right?”

Mycroft gave him a thunderous look.  “Get out!!  Get the hell out of my room!”

Sherlock blinked in surprise and then glowered.  “I only came in because you were playing that thing so bloody loud.”  He stomped out of the room.  

Mycroft went to the door and slammed it, then went back to the laptop where Greg was still singing.  “...feeling of your arms.  I don't want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck.”  He closed his eyes, his expression one of yearning.  “Don't you see me?  I...I think I'm falling, I'm falling for you."

Mycroft felt his throat constrict to the point he could hardly breathe.  He told himself that he was upset because he’d tried to set Greg and Libbie up and they didn’t listen and now Greg was hurting.  But he knew that seeing Greg in pain was only part of the reason.  He was hurting, too.  He wanted Greg to sing this to  _ him _ .   What if Libbie saw this and decided to dump Stamford for Greg?  Surely she wouldn’t be able to resist Greg serenading her?  He was amazing.  If they get together, Mycroft would have to avoid them both and then he would be utterly alone. 

Greg finished the song and turned off the recording without another word.  Mycroft pressed his palms together and tapped his fingers against his lips.  Should he comment?  What could he say?  Something comforting.  He had to set aside his own feelings about all this.  Taking a deep breath, he started typing.

**thetortinghat** :  You should tell her how you feel.  Show her this video, if she hasn’t already seen it.  How could she not fall in love with you?  If she doesn’t, she’s an idiot.  You are a wonderful man with a great capacity to love.  Look at how you dote on your sister.  Someone out there will appreciate what you have to give, even if this girl doesn’t. 

**struckachord** :  Thanks, that means a lot.

**mad4mendes** :  Holy crap.  I am so jealous.  Who is it?  Someone at uni?  You have to tell us!!

**struckachord** :  I’m not going to say.  I’m deleting this soon, anyway.  Just venting and I don’t want Caroline to see it.

**beeculture** :  I know someone who likes you a lot, but he won’t say because he doesn’t think you like boys.  I bet you like both boys and girls, don’t you?

**struckachord** :  Wow...uh...yeah.  I do like both, it’s no secret.  I’ve never seen you on here before. Who is it that likes me? 

**beeculture** :  He’s really got it bad for you.  I think the only thing he likes more than you is cake.  Eats layers upon layers of it.  It really shows.

Mycroft had been too stunned by Greg’s admission that he was bi to notice the username.  It wasn’t until the mention of cake that he realised it was  _ Sherlock _ .  He raced out of his room and down the hall to Sherlock’s room.  He flung open the door (thank  _ god  _ it wasn’t locked) and snatched Sherlock’s laptop out of his hands.  He marched downstairs to tell their parents about Sherlock invading his privacy.  After half an hour of he and his brother yelling at each other, their parents decided to confiscate Sherlock’s laptop for the next two days.  

Relieved, Mycroft went back to his room.  Greg had deleted the video, as promised.  Mycroft wondered if he’d figured out who it was that likes him.  Maybe if he was lucky, Greg would think it was John.  Mycroft paused in the act of closing his laptop.  Unless...unless John was the one he was falling for.  If Greg was bisexual, that meant his crush could be a man.  It would explain why Greg didn’t have a problem with John touching him so much at the party.  Maybe having spent more time with him over break, he realised he was developing feelings.  But why would he be sad about it if John clearly likes him, too?   _ Oh _ .  Mycroft almost forgot that John was in denial about his sexuality.  Liking someone and acting on it were two different things.

Mycroft suddenly found himself dreading the party in two days.  Whether Greg likes Libbie or John, both of them were going to be there.  What if Greg figures out that  **beeculture** is Sherlock?  Mycroft grabbed his mobile to text Libbie.  He noticed her previous text where she mentioned she was going to see a movie tonight with one of her friends.  That means she hasn’t seen the video.  And she wouldn’t, since he’s deleted it.  Mycroft sent her a text.  “I think I’m coming down with something.  I might have to skip your party. MH”  

An hour later, he got a response.  “Don’t you dare!  Some of the people I’ve invited could be great connections at our internship.  Take some vitamin C.”  Mycroft groaned.  He’d forgotten about that.  Damn it all!  This was just more proof that love was a distraction.  He needed to go to that party so he could network.  His mobile chimed and he saw he had another text from Libbie.  “I got a notification that Greg did a video.  But it’s been deleted?  Did you see it?”

Mycroft bit his lip and typed, “I was asleep. MH” He hated to lie to Libbie, but he didn’t know whether she was the one Greg was singing to and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to get involved.  Besides, she’d probably insist that  _ he  _ was the one Greg was falling for, and plant false hope in his heart. 

She responded.  “Go back to sleep, then.  You are not going to be sick on New Year’s Eve!”  But he was going to be sick.  Heartsick.  Mycroft turned and buried his face into his pillow, deciding to take her advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fallingforyou https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z53l9VSKJv0


	8. Chapter 8

Greg felt intimidated as he wandered around inside the posh terraced house belonging to the Smallwoods.  He’d almost forgotten that Libbie’s father was an MP, she was just so easygoing.  When he spotted her, he went over and she greeted him warmly.  “Greg!  Oh my god, you look  _ good _ .”  He blushed as she ran her eyes down his leather jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans.  He wanted to look nice tonight and this was always an outfit that got a response.  

He was thinking of possibly take  **thetortinghat** ’s suggestion and confessing how he feels to Mycroft.  He was hesitant, though.  It went opposite to what his father had advised.  But what if it turned out okay?  He could be kissing Mycroft at midnight.  “So, um, is Mycroft here yet?”

“Oh yeah, he’s been here ages.  I had him come early so he could meet some of the folks who are doing the Parliament internship this summer.  He’s so nervous, the poor dear.  Networking is so important and he’s afraid he’ll be pants at it.”

Greg blinked.  “That’s right, he told me about that.  I think he’ll do great, though.  He’s really easy to get along with.  We always have a lot to talk about.  And I’m not even his type.”

Libbie raised one eyebrow.  “His type?”

Greg bit his lip.  “I mean, for networking.  I’m not posh and political.”

Libbie giggled.  A hand appeared on her shoulder and she turned to see who it was.  “Mike!”  She gave him a delighted look and kissed him on the cheek.  “And John!  Welcome!”

Greg smiled and nodded at his new friends.  John gave him a once over, then quickly looked away.  He looked very nice, his blue cardie matched his eyes.  Greg pursed his lips.  He wanted to ask Libbie where the drinks were, but he also didn’t want to get as drunk as he did at that house party a couple weeks ago.  He wanted to be sober if he decided to confess his feelings to Mycroft.  Better to get some food instead.  

He made his way over to the refreshment table. As he grabbed some chips, he finally saw Mycroft.  He was looking very dapper in a brown blazer and waistcoat, with soft green corduroys.  The boy he was talking to was wearing a similar outfit, in maroon.  Very ‘young professional’ vibe.  Greg suddenly felt like a James Dean wannabe.    

Mycroft was smiling and laughing, and Greg took that as a good sign.  He was happy for him, and yet…  He started to feel a little claustrophobic, so he made his way to the back of the house and was relieved to find the door to the garden.  

He took a few gulps of the frigid night air and thought again about whether he should say anything.  It would be nice to know once and for all, rather than waiting on tenterhooks.  But was it fair of him to dump this in Mycroft’s lap just as he was starting to make headway with his goals?  If there was even a remote chance that Mycroft could feel the same way and they could actually be in a relationship, Greg would have to be respectful of his aspirations.  If he demanded too much of Mycroft, it would just confirm his belief that romance would get in the way of his career.  So maybe tonight wasn’t the best night to bring it up.  In fact, it might be a good idea to give Mycroft some space, give him a chance to develop these new friendships.  If Mycroft wanted to spend time with Greg, he could come to him.  

Greg went back inside before the cold settled into his bones.  He stopped by the refreshment table again and selected a fairy cake.  He was reminded of his mysterious commenter from the other day, claiming that someone who likes him also likes cake.  That left Mycroft out.  Greg had never seen him eat any sweets at all, much less cake.  One time he offered him a bite of his, and Mycroft winced and shook his head.  The commenter also implied he ate so much he was overweight.  Stamford?  No, he was very much straight.  It must be someone he doesn’t know.  Someone who watches the videos.  He wasn’t going to dwell on it.  Given that he’s hung up on Mycroft right now, it’s moot.  

Greg looked around and to his surprise he saw a girl named Stella from one of his study groups.  He decided to go say hi.  As he was starting over to her, he accidentally knocked into someone.  “Sorry about that!”  He looked and saw it was the maroon suit guy, who was still talking to Mycroft.  “Oh, Mycroft.”  

Mycroft looked Greg up and down, his eyes widening.  “Gregory.  How lovely to see you.  This is Arthur Milbourne.  We’re going to be working for the same MP next summer.  Arthur, this is Gregory Lestrade.  He’s studying criminal justice.” 

Arthur smirked, his eyes flicking over Greg’s leather jacket.  “Charmed.”  He turned back to Mycroft and continued talking.  Greg felt himself grow hot.  What a toff.  He saw that Mycroft’s expression was strained and his hands balled into fists.  He looked unsure of how to deal with the fact that his friend was just snubbed.  Greg saved him the trouble and slipped away to find Stella.

She’d disappeared, but he saw John and went to him instead.  He looked relieved when he saw Greg.  Understandable since Mike was preoccupied with Libbie and it didn’t look like he knew anyone else.  They chatted for awhile and then decided to go get a drink.  At the drinks table was a girl making a G&T.  When she saw John, her eyes lit up with interest.  “Would you like one?  I’ve been told I make a mean G&T.”  

He gave her a dazzling smile and leaned on the table.  “I dunno, I’ve only ever had friendly G&Ts.”  She giggled and started making him one.  Greg smirked and reached around her to grab a beer.  Once again he found himself slipping away, but this time he felt more cheerful about it.  

As he was thinking about trying to find Stella again, a hand rested on his shoulder.  He looked up and saw it was Mycroft.  “Gregory, I want to apologise for Arthur’s behaviour.”  

He looked discomfited and Greg gave him a warm smile.  “It’s alright.  You’re going to have to deal with sorts like him in your line of work, might as well get used to it.”

Mycroft looked rueful.  “Indeed.  But I saw that you found John, so it all worked out.”  His voice sounded tight for some reason.

Greg took a sip of his beer and shrugged.  “Yeah, but he’s chatting up some girl, now.”  He nodded his head towards the drink table, where John and the girl were doing some heavy flirting.

Mycroft’s eyebrows darted upward.  “I recognise her.  She’s a friend of Libbie’s.  Mary?  Moira?  I think she’s going to nursing school.”  He turned to Greg and looked chagrined.  “I’m sorry, Gregory.”  

Greg tilted his head, about to ask why he was sorry.  Libbie appeared between them.  “Mycroft!  Why did you let Arthur monopolize you for so long?  You still haven’t met Charlotte!  She’s the one you  _ really  _ want to impress.  She graduated last year and is already making a name for herself.  She’ll make the perfect contact!”

Mycroft looked stricken as he glanced at Greg.  Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.  “What are you waiting for? If this is your only chance to meet someone well-connected, you need to jump on it.”

Mycroft’s eyes softened.  He mouthed a thank you as he let Libbie drag him off.  Greg went to get another drink, and this time ran into Mike.  The next couple of hours he chatted with Mike, then Stella, then John and Mary, then Libbie for a bit.  He kept observing Mycroft, who seemed to open up more and more as he talked to people.  Whenever they listened attentively to him, his back got a little straighter.  Greg knew he must have been sharpening that wit of his, because people kept laughing and he practically glowed.  A few times Greg was tempted to join him, but he still felt put off by Awful Arthur’s reaction to him.  He didn’t want it to happen again and dim that lovely glow.  

About 20 minutes to midnight, he was approached by a tall guy, taller even than Mycroft.  He had light blonde hair and was very good looking.  “Hello, I’m Freddie.  Libbie and I are in drama club together at uni.”  He held out his hand.

Greg shook his hand.  “I’m Greg.  Libbie and I also know each other from uni.”

Freddie held his hand a beat longer before letting it go.  “Nice to meet you.  Um...this is a bit embarrassing.  I’ve actually been watching your videos.  I really enjoy them.”

Greg wondered briefly if he was  **thetortinghat** .  He’d assumed it was a girl.  “Ta!  Caroline’s enjoying them too.  It helps a lot with her missing me.  Are you one of the people who comments?”

Freddie shook his head.  “No, I wouldn’t know what to say.  I...saw the one you did the other night.  I don’t suppose the person you were singing about...well, did she see the video and respond?”

“ _ He _ has no idea I even do those videos.  So no, he didn’t see it.”

Freddie gave him a sympathetic look.  “It came as a bit of a surprise to find out you like men.  A happy surprise.”  His eyes glinted.

Greg felt his face warm.  He looked away, his eyes involuntarily searching for Mycroft.  He was such an idiot.  Here was a very attractive man flirting with him and all he wanted was to find Mycroft and whisk him away to some place private to kiss him at midnight.     

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Greg’s eyes went back to Freddie.  He grimaced.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not very good company.”

“No, it’s okay.  Believe me, I understand what it’s like.  It’s hard to let go, even though you know deep down it’s never going to happen.”

Greg raised his eyebrows.  “The voice of experience?”

Freddie nodded.  “I was crazy about this guy and he felt the same for me.  But then he witnessed a friend get bullied for being gay and he decided he wanted no part of it anymore.  He’s got a girlfriend, now.”

“Ouch.”     

Freddie leaned towards him, his lips close to Greg’s ear.  “I have an idea.  Why don’t we talk about something else,  _ anything else _ , until the clock strikes 12.  Then we can kiss each other and wish for better luck in love in the new year.  It might even work...for a little while.”

Greg gave him a small smile.  He really was a nice guy.  Glancing around one more time and not seeing Mycroft anywhere in sight, he swallowed hard and said, “So, Freddie...when you’re not watching me sing sappy songs to my sister, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

They chatted amiably for the next ten minutes, and before he knew it, everyone was counting down from 10.  Greg forced himself not to look around for Mycroft again.  If Mycroft had wanted to be with him, he’d be here by now.  As everyone shouted Happy New Year, Freddie leaned down and softly kissed him.  Greg closed his eyes and felt Freddie caress his face, then slide his hand up to tangle his fingers in Greg’s curls.  It was chaste and sweet and it wasn’t Mycroft.  When the kiss ended, Greg opened his eyes and was mortified to realise they were wet.  

A tear escaped down his cheek, and Freddie wiped it away with his thumb.  Greg looked away.  “Who the hell cries in a leather jacket?”

Freddie raised an eyebrow.  “Johnny Depp?”

Greg forced a smile.  “You’re a good sport, Freddie.”

Both eyebrows were raised.  “That implies that I’m giving up the fight.  I’d like to think I still have a chance.  It’s a new year, remember?”

Greg sighed.  He suddenly felt extremely tired.  He reached up and squeezed Freddie’s shoulder.  “I’ve had enough of this place, I’m going home.  Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”

He turned before Freddie could respond and headed straight for the front door.  He’d text Libbie later and thank her for inviting him.  Right now he couldn’t face anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Freddie is modelled after James Wilby, and his sad story is taken from Maurice. I couldn’t name him James for obvious reasons, so the name Freddie is from his character in Gosford Park (just the name, not the personality).


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft rubbed his eyes as his study guide started to look blurry.  He honestly didn't know why he kept at it.  He knew this stuff backwards and forwards, having spent the last several days immersing himself in it.  His mobile chimed and he grabbed it, grateful for a distraction.  It was a text from Greg.  “If you’re in need of a break tomorrow, thought we might have lunch?”

Mycroft had been dreading this.  After the New Year’s Eve party, he’d managed to avoid texting with Greg too much by claiming he had to study for exams.  But now they were back on campus, Greg would expect them to meet up.  Mycroft could use the studying excuse another week, but after exams were over it would become obvious that he was distancing himself from his friend.  

Mycroft could only hope that Greg won’t demand an explanation.  Maybe if Mycroft was really lucky, he won’t even notice Mycroft drifting away from him.  He’s made other friends now.  Possibly even has a new lover to help him get over whoever it was he was falling for.  Mycroft was still of the opinion his crush was John, and seeing him flirting with Mary hurt him enough that he found comfort in the nearest pair of arms.  Arms belonging to a towering blonde Adonis.  

Mycroft tossed the guide on the floor with a growl. What a disastrous beginning to the new year.  The party had started out well enough.  With every person he met, he’d felt at ease, less gauche than usual.  He realised some of it he could attribute to Greg.  The exposure therapy had worked - he’d learned how to be himself with someone who upset his equilibrium, and Greg’s enjoyment of his company had given him confidence.  

He also got to try out one of Lord Smallwood’s techniques for dealing with unpleasant people.  After that pompous blowhard Arthur snubbed Greg (clearly out of jealousy, Greg looked  _ amazing _ ), Mycroft froze up, unable to think of what he should do.  Then he remembered the concept of damning with faint praise. Mycroft proceeded to take Arthur down a peg in such a way that had Arthur eating out of his hand.  

Despite these successes, he’d been in a turmoil of emotions over Greg.  He wanted to spend time with him, but lurking at the front of his mind was the knowledge that Greg was attracted to men.  Mycroft’s resolve to prioritize work and bury his desire for romance was hanging by a thread in the face of a bisexual Gregory wearing a leather jacket and obscenely tight black jeans.  The only thing keeping him in check now was thinking of how mortifying it would be for the both of them if Mycroft made a pass and Greg had to let him down gently.

When told that midnight was mere minutes away, he’d been seized by the urgency of the moment, and the desire to tick over the new year by Greg’s side.  Maybe there would be no kiss, but there’d be that lovely smile from his friend that he craved.  That was better than sharing the moment with people he’d only just met.  He made his excuses to the girl he was chatting with and went to find Greg.

When he found him, Mycroft was startled to see him talking to a man he vaguely recognised.  A friend of Libbie’s, Freddie something.  It was clear Freddie was into Greg, but that was par for the course.  Mycroft realised belatedly that the countdown was almost over.  Midnight was at hand.  He took a step forward, but people were already shouting Happy New Year and Freddie was leaning down to kiss Greg.

He watched in horror as Freddie reached up and ran his fingers through Greg’s curls, the curls that Mycroft had taken absurd ownership of.  Mycroft felt a twisting inside that hurt worse than the time some kid punched him in the stomach on the playground.  He turned and went straight for the bathroom.  He slid down to the floor and whimpered, hugging his knees.  He hoped never to witness anything like that again.

Mycroft shook away the memory of the cold tile and his tears.  He looked down at the text and sighed.  He typed out a response, his lips pressed together in a reflexive and pointless desire to avoid blurting out the truth.  “Breaks are a luxury I can’t afford this week. I shall be eating in my room as I study. Good luck with your exams, Gregory. MH”

After a few moments, a reply came in.  “Same to you, Mycroft. But I know you won’t need luck. You’re brilliant.”

Bloody hell, why did Greg have to be so sweet?  He was a good friend and all he’d wanted was to have someone to talk to.  He didn’t deserve for Mycroft to treat him this way.  Especially given that he’d already been dumped once by his secondary school friends.  But there was nothing for it.  Mycroft couldn’t...he absolutely  _ could not  _ stay friends with Greg and risk the possibility of once again seeing him kiss another man.  It had been...devastating.  Ending his friendship with Greg might be cowardice, but it was also self-preservation.

*

Greg celebrated the end of the hellish exam week by singing the 500 Miles song for Caroline.  It was another favourite in their house, accompanied by lots of giggles and dancing.  There was a response from  **thetortinghat** that she (he?) had been to a Proclaimers concert and it was as fabulous as one would expect.

Exam week was made harder by the fact that he didn’t get to see Mycroft.  They were once again on campus, but Mycroft insisted he needed to study every moment.  Greg had seen him once at the library, with some people that had been at the new year’s eve party.  Greg told himself it was a study group.  They were in classes together.  It made sense.  And yet it still hurt that they got to spend time with him and Greg didn’t.  

The week after exams were over, Greg texted Mycroft twice asking him to lunch or Doctor Who or bloody anything, and both times he was too busy with schoolwork.  Greg decided to stop trying for the time being.  If Mycroft wanted to see him, he could bloody well text him.  Meanwhile, Freddie kept texting Greg to ask him out for coffee.  Cruel irony.

He thought about going out with Freddie, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to give him the attention he deserved.  Instead, Greg spent time with friends.  Mycroft might not have time for him, but other people did.  He went out for a pint with Mike and John occasionally.  Stella was becoming a fast friend. Being in the same classes, they’d studied together during exam week and were closer as a result.  He also enjoyed getting to know her boyfriend Al, who was taking forensics and was extremely funny.  

He was having dinner with the two of them one night, laughing at a particularly dark joke Al was telling about methods of poisoning, when he looked up to see Mycroft walk into the cafe with Awful Arthur and some girl he didn’t recognise.  Arthur was tittering in that snobby way that was really irritating, and Mycroft was smirking at him.  Greg was struck by how they were all dressed alike, in oxford shirts, cardigans, and ties.  It was disconcerting.  He reminded himself that Mycroft wasn’t a snob.  True, he didn’t modestly hide that he was more intelligent than anyone else.  It was just a point of fact to him.  But he didn’t think he was better than other people because of it.  

Or did he?  This was not like the library incident.  They were not on a study break - none were carrying a book bag.  This was friends meeting up for dinner.  Something that Mycroft had implied he didn’t have time for.  Had he been giving Greg the brush off?  Now that he’s befriended people that were more his style, did he no longer want to spend time with Greg?  The moment the three of them got in line, Greg made his excuses to Stella and Al and left the cafe.      

Greg decided to accept Freddie’s invitation to coffee after classes Friday.  Greg asked him about the drama club, and Freddie talked about their intent to put on an informal production of A Passage to India.  It was a nice way to spend an hour.  If it had been Mycroft, they’d be pushing three hours.  Freddie wanted to walk Greg back to his dorm, but he lied and said he had to go by the library.  So of course Freddie offered to walk him to the library.  

As they were saying their goodbyes at the entrance, Mycroft came out of the library with Libbie and a couple of other people Greg recognised from the exam week study group.  Mycroft locked eyes with Greg for a fraction of a second before continuing his discussion.  Libbie came over to Freddie and gave him a hug and said she’d see him at rehearsal.  She smiled at Greg and squeezed his shoulder.  Mycroft did not approach or look their way again.  This was a definite snub.  Greg’s chest constricted and he barely mumbled a goodbye to Freddie as he blindly went into the library and buried himself deep within the stacks.

That night Greg went to the pub with John.  He felt more at ease with him now that he was dating Mary.  John still gave him looks, but didn’t touch him as much and Greg didn’t have to worry about him being on the verge of a sexual identity crisis.  After having a pint too many, he stumbled back to his room.  He sat on his bed for a long time waiting for the room to stop spinning and trying to come to terms with Mycroft ignoring him.  

From an objective standpoint, Greg could understand that if Mycroft’s time was limited, then his choice was between school work, friendships that were advantageous to his career, and friendships that were...well, a distraction.  It was logical that Greg didn’t make the cut.  It seemed oddly apropos that Greg had protested Mycroft’s moratorium on romance, and now he was putting a moratorium on Greg.  Must be nice to so easily eliminate anything that makes life too complicated. 

Tom was off with Kayla as usual, so Greg turned on his youtube channel and without any preamble started playing Bittersweet Symphony.  He let the words flow through his lips and wash over him.  “Well I never pray, but tonight I'm on my knees, yeah. I need to hear some sounds that recognise the pain in me, yeah. I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now. But the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now. No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change, But I'm here in my mould, I am here in my mould.   And I'm a million different people from one day to the next. I can't change my mould….”

When the song was over, Greg sat there for a few moments, staring into nothing, before he remembered the video was still recording.  He clicked it off and then rubbed his face. Why was he doing this?  Habit?  Needing attention?  This was probably like vaguebooking.  Christ, he was pathetic.  Sure enough, his laptop chimed a new comment.

**thetortinghat** :  Would you like to talk about it?

It felt like a fist was squeezing his esophagus.  He started typing, not caring if it was a rambling mess.  He was going to delete it anyways.

**struckachord** :  Remember I told you about my best friend?  Over break he found some friends that have the same ambitions and now he’s ditched me for them.  And this isn’t the first time I’ve been ditched by friends because I’m not who they want me to be.  What the fuck is wrong with me?

There was a long pause.  Greg took deep breaths in and out.

**thetortinghat** : no, no, NO do not let him make you feel this way.  There is nothing wrong with you.  HE is a fool.  And he knows it.  I guarantee he is well aware that these new friends don’t hold a candle to you.  Let him go.  Move on from him.

**struckachord** :  I just don’t get it.  He’s so brilliant.  I’ve never met anyone who is better at reading people.  But he’s blind about what’s good for him.  He and I are very different but we fit, you know?  Like two halves of a coin, and we were both better for it.  But now he’s living in this...echo chamber.  

Another long pause.

**thetortinghat** :  Why are you worried about HIM?  He’s made a mistake.  A huge one.  Let him suffer the consequences!  Put him out of your mind.  Go out and find people who appreciate you, because you deserve to be appreciated.  Don’t give up on friendships just because of that...tosser.  

**struckachord** :  He’s not a tosser.  I miss him.

Realising how close he was coming to blurting out his feelings, he deleted the video.  

*

Mycroft gripped the sheets in an effort to keep from flinging his laptop to the ground.  How had he gotten this so wrong?  He hoped by being an arsehole, Greg would just write him off.  Their friendship couldn’t have possibly meant that much to him.  He was making other friends all the time.  Mycroft had even seen him at dinner with new people.  And now he was dating Freddie.  

Today should have been a happy day for Greg.  Instead he was sitting in his room alone mourning their friendship?  He was thinking something was wrong with him?  It was supposed to be the opposite!  Greg was supposed to think that Mycroft was a jerk and be well rid of him.  Instead he was worried about  _ him _ .  Mycroft felt a simultaneous rush of affection and self-loathing.

Mycroft flinched at the sound of fists pounding on his door.  For a moment he wondered if it was Greg coming to kick his worthless arse.  He went to the door on shaky legs and opened it.  Libbie barrelled in, whipping around to give him an accusatory look.  “What the  _ hell  _ did you do to Greg?”

Mycroft grimaced.  “You saw the video.”

Her eyes blazed.  “You’re bloody right I saw the video!  And your fascinating little exchange afterward.  What was  _ that  _ about?”

Mycroft’s voice faltered as he said, “I was trying to make up for being a terrible real life friend by being a good internet friend.”

She threw up her hands.  “Oh, well that makes sense.  You know, I saw you were keeping your distance today.  But I thought it was because you were shook up about Freddie. I felt bad for you.  But was what he said true?  Are you ditching him in favour of the stuffed shirts I set you up with?”

“No!”  Mycroft felt his sinuses aching, which means he was on the verge of a raging cry.  “It was the first one.  Him dating.  Him  _ kissing  _ Freddie.  I can’t have a front row seat to that.  I had to end it, Libbie, can’t you see that?”  He flung himself on his bed.  “I keep screwing this up!  I befriended him for the wrong reasons and I’m trying to fix it and I made it worse and why am I messing this up so badly?  You and I never had these problems.  It’s always been so effortless with you.”

Libbie’s fury melted and she sat down next to him.  “That’s because you were never head over heels for me.  Love makes people stupid.”  Hot tears spilled over his cheeks as she folded him into a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Av1Im7NVC3k
> 
> Bittersweet Symphony https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zGPN_Ybu1Q”>


	10. Chapter 10

A week later, Libbie called to ask,  “Are you going to Arthur’s party tomorrow night?”

Mycroft sniffed.  “I think not.  The last two parties I went to were a disaster.”

“I’ll try not to be too offended by that.”

“Libbie, you know what I mean.”

“Oh, please come with me, Mycroft.  I don’t want to go alone.  As soon as Mike found out who was hosting, he said  _ no thanks _ .  Apparently Arthur was being a total bitch to people at my party.  Mike said Greg was calling him Awful Arthur.”

Mycroft snorted. “With good reason.  When I introduced him to Greg, he took one look at Greg’s leather jacket and snubbed him.  I was furious.  That’s when I started practicing your father’s little trick of pretending to compliment him but I was really cutting him down.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been doing that!  You’re rather good at it, Dad would be proud.  Anyways, please come with me to the party.  I promise it won’t be like the last two.  It’ll be super boring, this is Arthur we’re talking about.”

“If it’s going to be so boring, why do you want to go?”

“Because we need to network!  There’s gonna be new people there.  Please?”  

“ _ Fine _ .  You’re right, of course.”  He huffed out a laugh.  “I mean, it’s not as if Gregory’s going to even be there.”

*

Mycroft was made to eat his words the next night when he and Libbie were in the middle of refreshing their drinks and saw Greg and Freddie walk through the door.  Stricken, he turned to Libbie and glared at her.  She looked bemused for a moment, but then understanding dawned.  “Ohh, I forgot that Arthur knew Freddie from drama club.”  

“Arthur is in drama club?  He  _ acts _ ?”  Mycroft was incredulous.

She shook her head. “He was only in it for a short time.  Like you, he realised it would be too time consuming.  He told me he took up acting because it would come in handy in his career - pretending to like people.”

Mycroft scowled.  “He didn’t do a good job of that with Gregory.”

Libbie giggled and rubbed his arm.  “I love that you’re so salty about that.  I have a feeling anyone who treats Greg badly will be making an enemy for life.”

Mycroft scowled even more as he watched Freddie take Greg over to Arthur, presumably to introduce them.  Greg’s expression turned sour.  Clearly he hadn’t known who was going to be hosting.  “If Arthur was only in drama club a short time, he couldn’t have gotten to know Freddie  _ that  _ well.”

“They hit it off because both of them have parents in the Ministry of Justice.  I think Arthur sees him as a possible future contact.”

Mycroft’s nostrils flared as he exhaled his displeasure.  He made a personal vow at that moment to never go to another party ever again.  He was unable to keep his eyes off them.  Libbie was apparently doing the same thing, because after awhile she commented, “You know, it seems to me that Freddie is a lot more into Greg than Greg is into him.”

It was true.  Freddie kept touching Greg and smiling at him, but Greg wasn’t reciprocating.  In fact, his smile seemed strained and he was looking around.  Mycroft angled away from them, facing Libbie in case Greg saw him.  “Well, he probably still has feelings for John.”

Libbie’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “ _ John _ ?  What the hell are you talking about?”

Mycroft explained about the fallingforyou song, about Sherlock asking if Greg was bi, and his theory about Greg crushing on John even though he’s still in denial about his sexuality.    Libbie gaped at him.  “Is this the video you said you didn’t watch because you were asleep?  I thought you were sick?   _ Oh _ !  You were pretending because you didn’t want to come to the party and see him with John.  But why did you lie about watching the video?”

“Because I knew you would try to make me feel better by suggesting that maybe I was the one Greg was singing about.”

“But what if it  _ is  _ you?!”

Mycroft shook his head.  “Libbie, if he was attracted to me, wouldn’t he have asked me out after he found out I was gay?”  

Libbie looked pensive for a moment, then her eyes widened.  “Maybe he didn’t because we talked about you not doing romantic entanglements.  You saw his reaction to that, he didn’t like it at all.”

Mycroft blinked, and felt his heart start to thud faster.  It was true that Greg seemed to really dislike Mycroft’s insistence on not dating.  He kept trying to change Mycroft’s mind.  Because he wanted to ask him out?  He shook his head.  “No...no, he’s not into me.  He can’t be.  Look at me!  Why would he be attracted to me when he’s got someone as handsome and debonair as Freddie?”

She rolled her eyes.  “We’ve already established that he’s not into him.”

“Right, because he’s into John.  Who is also very good looking and... _ fit _ .”

Libbie shook her head.  “You don’t know that it’s John.  It could be you.”

“It really can’t.”

“Then why has he been staring at you this whole time?”

Mycroft stiffened, forcing himself not to turn around and see.  “Is he...is he really?”

“Yes!  I’m surprised you can’t feel the holes he’s boring into the back of your skull.”

Mycroft drew in a shaky breath.  He risked a glance in Greg’s direction.  He swallowed thickly at the expression on his face.  Turning back to Libbie, he said, “It’s angry staring.  Maybe he’s still hurt about me ending our friendship. You know what, I should go.  Obviously I can’t stick around and watch the two of them together.  And I’m sure he’ll feel better if I’m not here pointedly ignoring him.”

Libbie made a frustrated noise.  “Oh Mycroft, why can’t you just go  _ talk  _ to him?”

Mycroft gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “Have fun, Libbie.  Would you...go spend time with him?  So he’s got more than one friend at this party?”

She gave him a threatening look.  “I’ve had just about enough of your idiocy.  If you don’t get away from me right now, I’m going to start screaming curses at you.”  He beat a hasty retreat.

*

It was a bright Sunday morning as Greg headed to the museum for his shift.  All the stores he passed were decorated for upcoming Valentine’s Day.  It was even worse on campus.  He was glad that in less than a week Valentine’s would be over and everything would go back to normal.  He was tired of being reminded about lovers.  Especially after this past week.  There’d been that disaster of a party that Freddie took him to.  Third one in a row.  A hat trick of terrible parties.  

It wasn’t Freddie’s fault that Greg had already met Arthur and hated him.  Nor was it his fault that Mycroft once again stayed away from him.  But Greg took it out on him and he felt bad for that.  Shortly after he saw Mycroft leave, he told Freddie that it wasn’t going to work out between them and went back to his dorm.  

After that, everyone seemed to be gearing up for Valentine’s Day.  Tom kept quizzing Greg on what he should get Kayla as a gift.  Stella and Al were telling him about the special dinner reservations they had.  When Greg met Mike and John for a pint last night, he patiently listened to them brainstorming plans for Libbie and Mary.  They were thinking of doing a double date, but Greg assured them that it would not be appreciated.

When Greg got to the museum, his boss once again pleaded with him to help out with the special Date Night at the Museum event they were hosting.  Greg reiterated his rule about not working during the week when he had classes.  He might have caved if it had been any other type of event.  But he had no desire to insert himself in a scenario where he’d be surrounded by lovebirds.

A couple of hours into his shift, he noticed someone was staring at him.  He looked over and saw Mycroft’s brother regarding him.  He smiled at him.  “Sherlock!  It’s good to see you!  Are you...here with your brother?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “Of course not.  I don’t need a chaperone, I checked the website.  I’m 14, you know.  My birthday was last month.  Besides, he’s too busy to spend any time with me.”

Greg’s smile faltered.  “I guess that’s true.  He doesn’t have time for me either.”  He winced, not having meant to let his bitterness leak out.

Sherlock scowled at him.  “What do you mean?  I thought you’d be joined at the hip now that I’ve cleared things up for you.”

Greg gave him a bemused look.  “Cleared things up?  What did you clear up?”

Sherlock looked heavenward and sighed.  “The fact that you like boys, obviously.”  He looked back at Greg.  “I only did it because I thought it would make him happy, and then he wouldn’t be an arse to me.  Well it had the opposite effect.  When he saw me talking to you, he confiscated my laptop.  For two days!  Thanks a lot!”

Greg shook his head and held up a hand.  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!  Back up.  How did clear up that I like boys?”  Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and then it clicked.  “You...you’re  **_beeculture_ ** ?!”

Sherlock scoffed.  “Obviously!  Who else did you think it was?”

Greg’s heart was pounding.  Then that meant..the one that likes him a lot...that was Mycroft he’d been talking about?  “Sherlock, I didn’t have a clue!  How was I supposed to tell from your username?  I didn’t know you like bees!”

Sherlock ran his fingers through his short spiky hair.  “I guess I assumed Mycroft told you once you got everything out in the open.”

“Nothing’s out in the open!  Look, how did you even see my video to comment on it?”

Sherlock huffed impatiently and folded his arms.  “Mycroft was watching it on his laptop in his room.  The door was open and it was playing loudly.  I saw your username, and when he shouted at me to get out, I went to my room and went to your youtube channel.  I saw that he’s been commenting on all your videos.”

Greg felt a little dizzy and so he leaned against the wall.  Mycroft’s been watching his videos?  And  _ commenting _ ?  “I had no idea about any of this.  What..what’s his username?”  

Sherlock rolled his eyes again.  “I gave you a clue!  I admit it’s not an easy one, but if you want to be a police detective, you need to be able to figure these things out.”

Greg scrunched up his face and tried to remember what  **beeculture** said to him.  There’d been that odd comment about cake. “Was it what you said about him really loving cake?”

Sherlock sighed deeply.  “You’re never going to get it.  Mycroft tries so hard to be clever and just ends up being obscure. Like some sort of cake hipster.  You know how bakers will slice a cake to get more than one layer?”  He made a sideways sawing motion with his hand.  “That’s called torting.”  He raised his eyebrows and comically widened his eyes in expectation.

The penny dropped.  “Torting?  Bloody hell!  He’s  **_thetortinghat_ ** ?  Oh, that bastard!”  Greg didn’t even care that he was swearing in front of a kid.  He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor.  He felt numb from shock.  

He looked up at Sherlock, who was smirking at him.  He put his hands on his hips.  “So Mycroft hasn’t told you any of this?  I thought once he knew you liked boys he’d go running to you and ask you on a date and you’d fall madly in love, blah blah blah.”

Greg exhaled, looking up at the ceiling.  “Just the opposite.  That was when he started freezing me out.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows darted up.  “Didn’t see that coming.  Well, how come you never asked  _ him  _ out?  It was obvious from your body language at lunch that you like him, too.”

Greg shook his head.  Sherlock was just like his brother.  Even seemingly engrossed in his book, he’d still been highly observant.  “I’ve never asked him out because he says he’s not interested in romantic entanglements.  I was trying to respect that.”

Sherlock plopped down on the floor next to him.  “ _ Weird _ . He and I have talked about all that before.  How there’s no advantage to caring about people, and sentiment being a defect that distracts from the work.  I mean, it makes perfect sense to me.  I don’t care about falling in love, there are other things more important.  But Mycroft...the only reason he believed in it was because he’d been hurt.  All the kids made fun of him and no one wanted to be his boyfriend.  He doesn’t want to go through that again, so he pretends like he’s not interested in love.  But it’s a load of crap. He’s soppy with it.  You should have seen the look on his face when he was watching your video.  I wanted to vomit.”

Greg looked away, not knowing how to process all this.  “You seem to know your brother pretty well.  Better than he knows himself.”

“Obviously.  You can’t defeat your enemy without knowing their weaknesses.”

Greg barked out a laugh and stood up. He held out a hand and pulled Sherlock to his feet.  “Thank you for telling me all that.”

“Exactly how thankful are you?”

Greg narrowed his eyes.  “What do you mean?”

“I hear that most museums have a back room where they keep the really good stuff.  I want to see it.”

Greg tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t.  “Alright, kid.  Tell you what I’ll do.  Next Sunday if you come here an hour before the museum opens, I’ll show you the room.  The curator is never here that early, so it’s the best time to slip in and out.  Got it?”  

Sherlock grinned.  “Got it!  Laterz!”  He bounced out of the room, and Greg chuckled and shook his head.  

His smile faded as he went back to contemplating everything he’d just learned.  He wanted to be angry that Mycroft had been deceitful.  He  _ was  _ angry.  But more than that, he wanted to understand. Very little of it made  _ sense _ .  Despite Sherlock’s dig about him being a poor detective, he would figure this out.  He decided to go through all the facts methodically and chronologically.  Put his coursework to good use.  

His hands shaking slightly, Greg took out his mobile and went to his e-mail, doing a search for notifications from  **thetortinghat** .  He still couldn’t believe it.  Mycroft was  **thetortinghat** .  What the bloody hell had he been on about with those comments on the Bittersweet Symphony video?  No, don’t think about that yet.   He had to go back to the beginning.  

According to Sherlock, Mycroft really liked him and was watching his videos with more than just  _ musical  _ appreciation.  Also according to Sherlock, Mycroft’s whole philosophy about distancing himself from love was born out of rejection and fear.  So...Mycroft liked him, but didn’t think Greg would like him back?  And he used his no dating policy as a way to avoid taking chances?  Greg couldn’t take Sherlock’s word as gospel just yet, but he would keep it as the running theory as he examined the facts.

Based on the date when  **thetortinghat** started commenting, he’d been watching videos since before they met.  So when they bumped into each other at the Halloween party, he would have recognised Greg.  But he didn’t say anything.  It was the unicorn girl who pounced on him.  When they met a couple days later and started hanging out with each other, he still didn’t say a thing.  It was like he was two personas - Mycroft the friend and  **thetortinghat** the fan.

As Greg scrolled, he found the comments on the Brown Eyed Girl video.  Right, his followers all thought Caroline was his girlfriend.  So up to that point, Mycroft thought he was unavailable.  That would have been extra incentive to hide his feelings.  But what about after that?  He still didn’t say anything, acted normal.  In fact, he kept insinuating that he thought Greg should be interested in Libbie.  Deflection?  

Greg found the comment about the Best Friend video, where he said he cherished his friendship.  That was the week before break.  Before the party.  Oh yeah, the first party.  Time to unpack that train wreck.  If Mycroft liked him, that would explain why he was irritated about all the girls dancing and John’s behaviour and Greg’s lack of concern over it.  But he seemed to be even more agitated by Greg’s insistence that they dance.  There was also his look of horror back in Greg’s room when he was going in for a kiss.  Surely such blatant behaviour should have been a clue that Greg was interested in him?  But then Greg remembered the comment about being secure in his masculinity.  Of course.  Mycroft still believed he was straight at the time.  He might have thought that Greg’s behaviour, like John’s, was a product of too much alcohol.  

Greg was amazed that Mycroft hadn’t been able to deduce his bisexuality.  Maybe he’d been blinded by his feelings for Greg.  Greg closed his eyes, hardly able to believe this was possible.  He opened his eyes again and scrolled for more comments.  The infamous fallingforyou video.  Mycroft wanted him to tell “her” how he felt.  He thought Greg was falling in love with a girl.  It was sweet that he’d given him that advice even though it went against his own interests.  He wanted Greg to be happy.  Greg wondered what he’d been thinking once he saw Greg’s response to Sherlock that he does like men.  Had he finally realised at that point that it was  _ him  _ that Greg was singing about?

No, if that was the case, then his behaviour at the New Years Eve party would have been completely different.  Greg thought back to that night.  There’d been Awful Arthur’s snub, which Mycroft hadn’t liked.  He apologised for it later.  Then he seemed upset about John hooking up with Mary.  He told Greg he was sorry, and that hadn’t made sense at the time.  Greg rubbed his face.  Ugh.  The only way it did make sense was if he thought that Greg was crushing on John.  Wow, Mycroft really was  _ thick _ .

But even at that moment, he was still behaving as a friend to Greg.  Even seemed apologetic that Libbie was dragging him off to meet yet another person.  What had happened between that moment, which was the last time Greg saw him during break, and the start of the semester when he began putting Greg off?  No, it was before that.  Their text conversations fell off almost immediately after the party.  Something at the party?  

The kiss.  The bloody fucking kiss.  Mycroft must have seen it.  And if he really had feelings for Greg, that would have hurt like a son of a bitch.  Christ knows if Greg saw Mycroft kissing anyone, he’d probably feel like complete garbage.  Especially someone as good looking as Freddie.  It was becoming clear that Mycroft was extremely insecure, so that would have made it worse.  God fucking dammit.

So...Mycroft decided that it would hurt too much to be friends with Greg if he was going to be dating Freddie?  But he still kept watching his videos.  And using his online persona to push Greg to get over the end of their friendship.  Manipulative bastard.  Maybe if he’d been honest and said  _ why  _ he didn’t want to be friends anymore, they could have cleared this right up.  Instead, Greg’s dates with Freddie kept reinforcing Mycroft’s resolve. 

Okay.  Okay, so what now?  He had what he thought was a good read on the situation.  But a lot was dependent on how strong was Mycroft’s belief that romance would be a distraction to his work.  Even if it’s based on fear of being hurt, that is still a powerful motivator.  Greg could go to him and lay his heart out before him, and Mycroft could decide anyway that he wasn’t worth the risk.  

Greg knew that he was going to say something.  As much as Mycroft had hurt him with his insecure behaviour, Greg still loved him and still wanted him.  If there was a chance, he was going to take it.   _ But  _ he wanted to test the waters first rather than jump right in.  He had the perfect way to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sherlock has short hair in this fic. My headcanon is that he was yet another admirer of Greg’s curls and starts to grow his hair out to achieve a similar look.


	11. Chapter 11

During his tube ride back to campus, Greg contemplated what song he wanted to use.  Also what he wanted to say if  **thetortinghat** does comment.  When he got to his room he set up his laptop and started the video feed.  He began to play without introduction.  “Say something, I'm giving up on you.  I'll be the one if you want me, too.  Anywhere I would've followed you…”  He looked at the screen, seeing usernames flash, but he had to concentrate on his playing.  “I'm still learning to love, just starting to crawl.  Say something, I'm giving up on you.  I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.”  He closed his eyes, hoping that Mycroft was watching.  It would be just his luck if he was in a study group or something.  “And I... will swallow my pride.  You're the one that I love…”  He looked at the tiny dot of the webcam as he finished his song.  He reached over and ended the video.  Then he waited.

Seven minutes later...probably the longest it’s taken for  **thetortinghat** to send a comment, he finally got a notification.

**thetortinghat** :  May I ask who the song is for?  The same person from before New Years or...someone new?

Greg shook his head, smiling smugly.   _ Gotcha _ .

**struckachord** :  It’s the same guy I’ve been in love with for ages now.  I can’t get him out of my head.  No one even comes close.

Greg silently hoped Freddie wasn’t reading this.  It was the truth, but it would sting.

**thetortinghat** :  But you’re giving up on him.  Because he doesn’t return your affections?  Did you never tell him how you feel?  

**struckachord** :  I never told him because I wasn’t sure it would be welcome.  May I ask you a question?  If someone you knew said they were in love with you, how would you feel?

**thetortinghat** :  If I loved him, hearing that would make me incredibly happy.  If I didn’t, I would let him down gently and hope to remain friends.

**struckachord** :  You say you would be happy, if you loved him.  What if you didn’t feel free to love him?  Because of other obligations?

**thetortinghat** :  What other obligations could possibly matter?  A friend of mine once said, “I can’t imagine anything being more important than love.”

Greg folded his arms.  Throwing his own words in his face.  

**struckachord** :  And you agreed with your friend?

**thetortinghat** :  At the time, I didn’t.  I was too afraid.  I’ve been forced to acknowledge the truth of it, though.  Love has a way of overwhelming everything whether it’s reciprocated or not.  I’m still terrified, but I’m learning to live with the reality that it’s not going to go away.

**struckachord** :  I understand all too well.

**thetortinghat** :  Please don’t give up on him.  Tell him you love him.  If he rejects you, then he’s a fool.  You are so much better than the one he’s with.

Greg raised his eyebrows.  So, he still thinks it’s John. He thought about calling him out on his assumption, but he’s had enough of games.

**struckachord** :  I will do as you say, but I hope you take your own words to heart.  Conquer your fear.  You deserve some happiness, too.

Greg waited a couple of minutes, then deleted the video.  He closed his laptop and began making a list of things he would need for Valentine’s Day.

*

Mycroft was unable to stop thinking of Greg’s video from Sunday.  Libbie’s only comment on the situation had been to text him a gif of a basketball player rolling his eyes and walking away.  Very mature.  

_ Conquer your fear.  _  He was never going to be brave enough to tell Greg that he was in love with him.  But he did desire  _ some  _ happiness.  He very much desired Greg’s company.  Mycroft had rejected his friendship on the grounds that seeing him fall in love with someone else would be too painful to witness.  But the alternative - never spending time with him - was proving to be even  _ more  _ painful.  

Mycroft missed him badly.  Obviously it didn’t help that he kept watching his videos.  Despite the increased study time with his new friends, his schoolwork was suffering.  It didn’t make sense.  How could  _ not  _ spending time with Greg be  _ more  _ distracting than spending time with him had been?  Mycroft wanted his friend back, and at this point it didn’t matter if Greg paraded a bevy of studly men past him, it would be worth it.  

When the last class of the day ended, Mycroft wearily gathered up his book and the paltry notes he’d taken and headed back to his room.  He studiously ignored the chatter around him as people talked about where they were having dinner and who was sent flowers and other tedious details surrounding Valentine’s Day  He took out his mobile and sent a text to Greg.  “I want to apologise for my behaviour these past weeks. I regret it deeply. Please have dinner with me tomorrow night so I may explain. MH”  

He would have suggested tonight, but Greg might have plans for the big day.  If he told John how he feels, and if John did the right thing and dumped Mary, then tonight would be a perfect way to celebrate their new relationship.  Mycroft grimaced at the thought.  It would be hard to see them together, but anything was better than this current purgatory.

His mobile chimed.  It was a text from Greg.  “You really hurt me, Mycroft. But I’m willing to listen. We’re on for tomorrow night.”  Mycroft felt flooded with relief.  Dear Gregory.  He was a much better friend than Mycroft deserved.

He got to his room and contemplated the evening ahead.  He didn’t want to go out at all, not even to one of the campus cafes that were garishly decorated with pink hearts and advertising sweetheart specials.  He’d order something be delivered.  In the meantime, he needed to humbly ask one of his classmates to send him their notes since his were completely inadequate.

*

Mycroft was perusing the various delivery menus when his mobile chimed.  He looked and saw that Greg had started a video.  He closed his eyes.  Was it for Caroline?  Another pining one?  Or maybe he’s serenading John.  He thought about just ignoring it.  For once, not giving in.  But if it wasn’t for Caroline, Greg would probably delete it, and then Mycroft would be left forever wondering what it was about.  Plus, who was he kidding?  He couldn’t pass up the chance to see Greg being ridiculously romantic, if that was what it was.

He opened his laptop and went to Greg’s youtube channel.  His pulse jumped as he saw that Greg was wearing the leather jacket with an oxford shirt and red tie.  He was so beautiful.  Greg was saying something and he forced himself to focus.  “....not for Caroline, I’ve already called and wished her a Happy Valentine’s Day.  No, this is for someone else.  I’ve sung to this person before.  Several times in fact.  At the time I didn’t know he was watching the videos, I was just venting.  The last time I sung to him, on Sunday night, I  _ knew  _ that he was watching.  The reason I knew is because a little birdie told me.  Or should I say, a little  _ bee  _ told me.”  Mycroft felt a chill go up his spine.  Oh… _ oh god _ .

Greg went on, “Yeah, he was at the museum on Sunday, and confirmed he was  **beeculture** .  He pretty much called me an idiot for not realising that his joke about cakes was a clue to your username,  **thetortinghat** .  I know who you are now.”  Mycroft flushed, blood pounding at his temples.  “You told me in my last video not to give up on love, and to tell him how I feel.  So I’m telling you.  I love you.  Not any of those other people that you seem to think I should be with.   _ You _ .”  Mycroft gaped at the screen.  Was this real?  Had he somehow leapt in time to April Fool’s Day?  Some panicked part of his brain screamed that this was a mistake, that he thought it was someone else.  Maybe Sherlock lied.

Greg positioned his guitar in his lap.  “I know that you’re afraid.  But you’ve already shown bravery by reaching out to apologise.  It really meant a lot to me.  Be a little more brave, will you?  Don’t wait till tomorrow.  Come to me tonight.”  He gave a tiny little smile.  Mycroft felt all the air leave his lungs. There was no more denying it.  Greg was talking about him.  He knew he was  **thetortinghat** .  He was telling him he loves him.  He was about to serenade him!

Greg slid his fingers back and forth along the strings.  “The song I’m going to sing is Mirrors.  It has lyrics about being on the other side of the glass, which is apropos don’t you think?”  He reached out and tapped his laptop screen.  “Also, it reminded me of when I said we were like two halves of a coin.  I hope you like it,  **thetortinghat** .”  Greg started playing his guitar and sang to him.  To  _ him,  _ Mycroft Holmes.  

Mycroft gazed at him in adoration as he sang.  “If you ever feel alone and the glare makes me hard to find, just know that I'm always parallel on the other side.”  From the moment he first laid eyes on him in Libbie’s room, he’d dreamt about this very thing.  It was just as glorious as he’d imagined.  “...there's no place we couldn't go.  Just put your hand on the glass, I'm here trying to pull you through.  You just gotta be strong.”  

He winked, then closed his eyes.  “Cause I don't wanna lose you now, I'm looking right at the other half of me.  The vacancy that sat in my heart, is a space that now you hold.” He opened his eyes and stared at the webcam, and Mycroft desperately wished he was in the room so he could see those brown eyes properly.  “Show me how to fight for now.  I'll tell you, baby, it was easy coming back into you once I figured it out.  You were right here all along.”  

Mycroft’s mobile kept chiming and he reached for it to turn it off.  A glance at the screen showed a text from Libbie.  He saw the words, “You better fucking go to him or I will kick your sorry arse!!” before he silenced the phone and put it back.  

Greg was singing, “I couldn't get any bigger with anyone else beside of me.  And now it's clear as this promise that we're making two reflections into one.  Cause it's like you're my mirror...my mirror staring back at me.”  Mycroft continued to watch, his heart completely and utterly full, until the last note died.  Greg smiled tenderly as he set his guitar down.  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of this barrier.”  He tapped the screen again.  “I’ve another song I’d like to sing to you, but you have to come here.”  Doubt flashed across his face.  “I hope you come, love.”  He turned off the video.

Mycroft inhaled sharply.  He needed to erase that doubt immediately.  The problem was that he was quaking with emotions and his fingers shook almost uncontrollably.  There was nothing for it.  For the first time in his life he used text speak.

**thetortinghat** :  c u in 10  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say Something https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaEN6lDjMKo
> 
> Mirrors https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLGocron8ps


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft started out in a sprint, but that didn’t last long and ended up just fast walking.  The summer of long walks and biking was far behind him.  He also realised he would be showing up hot and sweaty to Greg’s door wearing the same clothes he’d been in all day.  Hardly romantic.  But it was too late.  To turn back now would be unforgivable.  

When he got to Greg’s door, he took a few seconds to wait for his pulse to slow down.  After awhile, when his heart was still racing, he realised that it was not entirely due to the exercise.  He was nervous as hell.  He was being given everything he ever wanted and instead of happiness he was deeply anxious and wanting to bolt.  He reminded himself that Greg was counting on him.   _ Conquer your fear. _

Mycroft squared his shoulders and knocked softly on the door.  After a few moments, it opened.  The smile Greg gave him could light up a room. In fact, from the glimpses that Mycroft could see behind him, the whole room  _ was  _ lit up.  Greg held out his hand.  “I’m so glad you came, Mycroft.  Happy Valentine’s Day.”  Mycroft took a deep breath and placed his hand in Greg’s.  Greg gently pulled him inside, and Mycroft saw what Greg had done to his room.  

There were tiny candles  _ everywhere _ .  Except there was something different about them.  Mycroft squinted.  “Are those LED?”

Greg grinned.  “Of course.  Regular candles aren’t permitted in the dorms.”

Mycroft chuckled.  “That’s my Gregory.  Law-abiding to a fault.”

“And practical.  I’m going to be pretty distracted and wouldn’t notice if my room started going up in flames.”  Greg was running his thumb over Mycroft’s knuckles and he felt a little shiver.  “Over here we have some champagne.  My father gave me some recommendations.”  He pointed to a bucket filled with ice and a bottle.  “I have my mobile set up with some music.  I will play you that one song, as promised, but for most of the evening I’d prefer to have something else in my arms besides my guitar.”  He winked and Mycroft felt butterflies.  “Have you had dinner, yet?”

Mycroft shook his head.  “I was looking at delivery menus when you started your video.”

“Well, I hope you like Italian, because I have a feast planned for delivery at 7 o’clock.  Plenty of time to have a long overdue chat.”  Greg took off his jacket.  “Now that I’ve wooed you over here, I’m getting comfortable.”  He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves.  He frowned.  “You’re not wearing a coat.  Weren’t you freezing on the way over?”

He was right.  Mycroft looked chagrined.  “I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Greg’s eyes gleamed.  “I’m glad you rushed.  I couldn’t have waited a minute more.  Come, sit down.”  He indicated the bed, while he sat on the desk chair, backwards, with his arms propped onto the back.  Greg gazed at him as he diffidently sat on the bed.  “You remember the last time you were here?”

Mycroft solemnly nodded. “You were very drunk.”  He looked away.  “You know, there was a moment when you were leaning towards me and I thought you were going to kiss me.”  He inhaled sharply.  “I didn’t want it to happen.  I knew that if your lips touched mine, I’d be completely lost.  Meanwhile It would have been just a...a drunken snog for you.  I felt foolish when it turned out to be only a hug.”

Greg rested his chin on his folded arms.  “I  _ was  _ going to kiss you.  The look on your face stopped me.  I thought you were repulsed.”

Mycroft groaned.  “That whole night was so confusing!  Hell, our whole relationship has been confusing.  Do you know I only befriended you because I thought you were safe?  You supposedly had this girlfriend you were madly in love with.  My little crush on you was in no danger of being consummated.”

Greg gave him a wicked look.  “That’s been a danger from the start.  If you hadn’t cockblocked me with your rule against romantic entanglements.”

Mycroft flushed deeply.  “You can’t mean to say you were always attracted to me.  I guess I thought…”  He hadn’t thought about it, really.  The idea of Greg being attracted to him was so completely foreign.  “I mean...I figured it only grew after you got to know me.”

“Well, it  _ did  _ grow.  I went from wanting you to  _ desperately  _ wanting you.”

“Gregory…” he said shakily, hardly able to believe it.

Greg stood up and came to sit by him.  “The first time I saw you, about a week into school, you were in a study desk at the library.  Looking all prim and proper and cool as a cucumber.  Except you had this auburn hair that gleamed like fire.”  Greg reached up and ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.  Goosebumps rose up his neck.  

“The second time time I saw you was at a rugby game.  You were sitting with Libbie and laughing together.  I could tell even then that you’re not the type of person to smile easily, and that it was a rare and beautiful thing I was witnessing.”  His hand trailed down to cup Mycroft’s cheek and swiped his thumb over his lower lip.  Mycroft’s breathing became shallow. 

“The third time I saw you was at the Halloween party.  We bumped into each other.”  

Mycroft smiled fondly.  “You were dressed as Humphrey Bogart.”

Greg gave him an incredulous look.  “I was dressed as Columbo.”

Mycroft gaped in horror.  “ _ Columbo _ ?!”  They both burst into giggles.

“Well you were a vampire, that much was clear.  And being up close I could see you had the most gorgeous eyes.”  He placed both hands on either side of Mycroft’s face.  “I knew right then and there that I no longer wanted us to be two ships passing through the night.  I was going to say something, but then unicorn girl dragged me off.”

Mycroft looked down.  “And I fled back to my room because I couldn’t handle the emotions you stirred in me.  I’d already seen you on your videos.”  He lifted his hands to rest on Greg’s wrists, his thumbs stroking his pulse points.  “So you’re saying that when we met in the cafe...that wasn’t because there was nowhere else to sit?”

Greg shook his head.  “I wanted you.  Even if it was just as a friend.  I really was eager to make friends.  But I also wanted more with you.”

Mycroft gazed at him mournfully. “You could have had more sooner if I wasn’t so afraid of getting hurt.  And using my ambition as an excuse.”

“So Sherlock was right?”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose.  “Please  _ don’t  _ mention his name.  Not when you’re this close to me and hopefully... about to kiss me.”  He felt himself tremble at his boldness.

Greg gave him a smile that could only be classified as  _ sultry _ , and then leaned in, tilting his head up.  Mycroft lowered his own head, and when their lips met, he melted against him.  Mycroft dropped his hands to Greg’s waist, clutching the fabric of his shirt.  When their lips parted, Mycroft let go of his shirt and tentatively reached up to touch a lock of Greg’s hair that was curling around his temple.  He tangled his finger into it.  “Gregory, I haven’t yet told you how  _ I  _ feel.”

Greg regarded him with his warm, brown eyes.  “But you did.  When you confessed that love  _ is  _ the most important thing.”

Mycroft shook his head.  “I was hiding behind anonymity.  It doesn’t count.”  he leaned his head down, and nuzzled Greg’s nose.  “I love you, Gregory.  You really are the most important thing to me.”  He kissed him again.  Greg circled his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled him close.  He felt Greg’s tongue tease at his lower lip and he shivered as he opened up for him.  Involuntarily his fingers tightened in Greg’s curls, pulling a little.  When Greg groaned, Mycroft froze.  

Greg tilted his head back to gaze up at Mycroft, his eyes twinkling.  “Sorry about that.  We have plenty of time for you to learn my kinks, later.”  Mycroft flushed and felt a roaring in his ears.   Greg gave a throaty laugh.  “No, no, no, don’t be afraid.  We’ll take it slow.  I’ve sort of...deduced that you’ve never been with anyone.  Am I right?.”  Mycroft gave him a timid nod.  Greg ran his hand up and down Mycroft’s back in a soothing gesture.  “We’ll take all the time you need.  And even if you decide you never want to…”

“No!  I want to.  Maybe not tonight.  But I definitely want to...to have you.”  He peered at Greg through his lashes and Greg responded with a wide grin.

Greg gave him a quick peck on the mouth, then pulled away and grabbed his guitar.  “Dinner should be here soon, but I wanted to play this for you first.  It’s just a short little song that I love.”  He started to play a tune that sounded vaguely familiar.  “There was a boy.  A very strange enchanted boy.  They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea.”  He looked up at Mycroft and his eyes crinkled as he sang, “A little shy and sad of eye.  But very wise was he.  And then one day, one magic day he passed my way.  And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me…”  Greg stopped playing and looked pointedly at Mycroft, his eyebrows raised.

Mycroft looked down and felt himself grow warm at what was expected of him.  He cleared his throat, lifted his chin, and with an adoring look at Greg he sang, “The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love... _ and be loved in return _ ."  Greg laughed in delight and put away his guitar, pulling Mycroft to him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nature Boy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CNHOTvij8M


	13. Chapter 13

Greg paused before he hit record, gazing for a moment at the picture on his bedside table of the two of them.  It was a selfie that Greg took in Mycroft’s dorm room one night when they’d been cuddled together watching a movie.  He touched the picture briefly, feeling warmth pool in his stomach as he remembered what took place after the picture was taken.  He squeezed his eyes shut so he could regain control.  Taking a deep breath, he finished turning on his video. 

“Hello, lovely viewers!  Now that school term is over and I am with my family for the summer, my weekly videos will no longer be to my sister Caroline.  They’re for my boyfriend, who..” he sighed deeply, “...I already miss terribly.  He’s in London on an internship and I hope you are enjoying it, love.  Meanwhile I am in the South of France.  His parents lent us their family cottage by the ocean.  They were here last summer and now it’s our turn.  Caroline adores it.  We’ve not been able to pry her from the beach.  My father’s been teary-eyed from the moment we crossed the border into France.  My mother’s eaten so much cheese, it’s gotten a bit scary.  So thank you to my boyfriend’s parents.  It’s meant the world to us.  I hope that someday, my love, we can come back here, just the two of us.”  He gave a suggestive smile.  “My darling boy, this is for you.”

He started playing his guitar.  “What would I do without your smart mouth?  Drawing me in, and you kicking me out.  You've got my head spinning.  No kidding, I can't pin you down.  What's going on in that beautiful mind?  I'm on your magical mystery ride.  And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright.”  His voice hitched a little as he continued, “My head's under water, but I'm breathing fine.  You're crazy and I'm out of my mind.  'Cause all of me loves all of you.  Love your curves and all your edges.  All your perfect imperfections.  Give your all to me, I'll give my all to you.  You're my end and my beginning.  Even when I lose I'm winning.  'Cause I give you all of me.  And you give me all of you.”  

When the song was over, he reached over to turn off the recording, whispering with a wink, “Je t'aime, mon chou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Of Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8I1O3pdlJc
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! You can find me on tumblr at sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com
> 
> User [lmirandas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas) did a Spotify playlist! Thank you so much!!! [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12144943657/playlist/2PlR3gCAgMSp5zua1OVxBW?si=XaaGcwcFSCifBLcmVQ-L1w)


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